


Something About Hermione

by Caughtinblackseyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Infidelity, Multi, Romance, Some Nasty Language, Some Weasley Bashing, Some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caughtinblackseyes/pseuds/Caughtinblackseyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron cheats on Hermione who finds out about his infidelity in the worst way possible. Sirius, Remus and Harry offer her a place to stay at Grimmauld Place which infuriates both Ginny and Molly.  Several wizards offer advice, comfort, and friendship, but a few of those wizards have more in mind than just lending Hermione an ear to bend or a shoulder to cry on!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unnecessary Interventions

**Author's Note:**

> Many beloved characters who bit the dust in the books/movies are alive and well in my story, so it goes without saying that this does not follow canon in many, many ways.
> 
> There will be Weasley bashing (Ron, Ginny and Molly), so you have been warned. If you don't like it then don't read it. I have never liked either Ron or Ginny and Molly can go either way for me, but in this fic she's not so nice.
> 
> I own nothing and make no money from this story!

 

 

**Chapter 1**

* * *

**  
**  


 

**An unnamed restaurant in the Wizarding World:**

 

“We’ve got to do something about Hermione!”

 

Lavender’s artfully plucked brows rose high on her forehead. This wasn’t the first time in the past few months that Ginny had rambled on about Hermione, though she couldn’t remember her ever sounding as vehement about it.

 

Lavender took a delicate sip from her glass, careful not to smudge her lipstick, before answering her clearly upset friend. “Hermione can handle herself. She’s not the type to welcome interference into her personal life, not even from you.”

 

While Hermione and Ginny had been solid friends since their days at Hogwarts, Lavender – though not close to Hermione herself – was well aware that meddling was a sure way to gain a hex or two from Hermione’s more-than-accurate wand.

 

Frustrated, Ginny exclaimed, “It would be an intervention!”

 

“She doesn’t have a drug problem, Ginny.” Lavender cracked a small smile at the very notion of Hermione Granger addicted to anything more than what a good book could provide. “She likes being by herself and doing her own thing.” Ginny snorted. “She does, Gin. Leave her be.”

 

“It’s not normal,” Ginny grumbled against the rim of her wine glass. “She doesn’t date. She doesn’t even try to! She needs to get out there. Meet people, meet men! I mean, I’ve tried being subtle…”

 

Lavender rolled her eyes. Ginny had about as much subtlety as the Hogwarts Express running full tilt and out of control.

 

 

“… but it’s like she’s oblivious to every dropped hint.” Heaving a deep sigh, Ginny continued, “It’s bloody depressing. I could probably set her up with an ex of mine, but her sour attitude is off-putting to even the most determined wizard. Have you seen her lately? She looks awful, and she can’t afford to be walking around looking like that.” At Lavender’s curious look, Ginny spelled it out. “Let’s face it; Hermione’s never been one to attract loads of admirers.”

 

 

After flagging down the waiter with her menu and ordering a salad with poppy-seed dressing, Lavender said, “Surely you exaggerate. Hermione’s grown into her looks over the last few years.” At Ginny’s startled reaction, Lavender continued, “She’s not pretty in the same sense that we are, that’s true. But Hermione is good looking in her own fashion. I’ve seen plenty of men giving her the once over, and don’t tell me you haven’t ever wished for a figure like hers.”

 

 

Ginny scowled. She knew without vanity that she was beautiful; she’d had wizards falling at her feet since her fifth year at Hogwarts. But she would have happily traded some of that beauty for a smidge of voluptuous flesh. Ginny had endured the teasing taunts of her brothers when puberty had come and gone with nary a change to her form. “Okay, yeah,” she grudgingly admitted, “she’s – as George has commented on once or a million times – ‘got quite a rack on her.’”

 

Lavender’s nose wrinkled in distaste. What a horrid way for George to compliment Hermione’s womanly attributes. Fortunately, Hermione loved him to death and took all of his lascivious comments in stride. Otherwise, Lavender might actually fear for his life. The truth was, Hermione didn’t take anything he said in the least bit seriously. In her mind, George was just being, well… George. And since he was who he was, Hermione never quite took in the fact that George might actually mean all those things. More than likely, he was hoping to sample some of Hermione’s goods one day. But George was destined for disappointment. Only one Weasley had ever had a go, and he’d blown it. Big time!

 

“She’s got more going for her than just a pair of large breasts, and nicely shaped hips.” Ginny gave Lavender a side look filled with derision. Lavender tacked on sharply, “And, I’m not just talking about her mind! Everyone in the Wizarding World is well aware of her brilliance. Why must Hermione be categorized as brainy Granger, and nothing more?”

 

“Because that’s what she puts herself out there as,” Ginny retorted, flinging her fiery red head back. “And because of that, that’s what people – men in particular – see. They don’t look at Hermione and see her as an object of desire!”

 

Ginny noticed the waiter approach with Lavender’s salad and stopped speaking. Lavender understood her wariness. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were firmly entrenched in the publics’ mind as heroes. As such, they were subject to much gossip and speculation. It looked as if Ginny wasn’t taking any chances on being over-heard by the man. Who knew if he might take it into his head to sell their conversation to the press? Every move they made, every word they spoke was noted, dissected, and then reported either on the wireless or the newspapers. What had happened with Ron and Hermione was a perfect example of the catastrophic consequences of not being aware of one's actions.

 

After the waiter’s departure, Lavender picked up her fork, made a stab at one of her cherry tomatoes, and prepared herself for a continued diatribe on the flaws of Hermione Granger. Ginny seemed determined to run the other woman down.

 

“I realize what Ron did isn’t something that could be easily forgiven, but he’s not the first wizard to stray.”

 

Lavender’s fork halted on its way to her mouth. Was Ginny kidding?! She had to be! But the serious set look on Ginny’s face told its own story.

 

“I can’t believe you just said that.” The censor in Lavender’s tone did not seem to affect Ginny in the least, and that bothered Lavender. Trying a different tack, she asked, “And I suppose you’d be able to forgive and forget if it’d been your boyfriend having it off with another witch?”

 

“That would never have happened,” Ginny huffed, put out that her friend would even voice such a thing. “ _I_ know how to keep a man happy.” On seeing a frown settle between Lavender’s brows, Ginny hastily added, “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t condone what Ron did, but maybe if Hermione had been, well… a bit more adventurous or something. Besides, Ron’s made it clear that he wants her back, and she would do well to take him up on it or she’s going to find herself alone.”

 

 

Lavender’s appetite disappeared, leaving behind a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. “So, what you’re saying is that Hermione’s to blame? That if Hermione had been some sort of sex goddess, this wouldn’t have occurred?” Now, it was Lavender’s turn to snort. “That’s real rich, Gin.”

 

“I never said it was Hermione’s fault,” Ginny exclaimed defensively. “It’s just, I know that she and Ron have been having difficulties in the sex department.” Lavender looked shocked. “Oh come on, he’s my brother, for Merlin’s sake! Sometimes he confides in me, it’s understandable! As Hermione’s friend, I’have some insight into her and her reasons for doing what she does.”

 

“It was wrong of Ron to be so indelicate as to divulge such personal information,” Lavender stated, sounding to Ginny’s ears like a prude. “And I, for one, have no desire to hear the specifics from you.”

 

“You’re missing the point! Ron said he’s willing to take her back even though she’s lacking in the sex department.”

 

“Let me make sure I have this straight. Hermione should just forget about what happened and be grateful that Ron wants to get back together with her,” Lavender demanded angrily. At Ginny’s nod, Lavender banged her fork on the table before exclaiming indignantly, “What a load of dragon shite!” Ignoring Ginny’s taken aback expression, Lavender pushed onward. “You’re a true friend there, Gin. Hermione’s fortunate to have you.”

 

Shocked at one of her best friend’s unexpected outburst, Ginny retorted, “Since when have you become a champion of Hermione’s? You’ve never cared a whit for her! Back at Hogwarts, you constantly gave her grief by flaunting your tongue-down-throat relationship with my brother! You reveled in the knowledge that it made her life miserable! Now, all of a sudden, you’re angling for do-gooder status?” Ginny snorted. “Talk about a load of dragon shite.”

 

Lavender listened to Ginny’s tirade in silence and then said harshly, “Be that as it may, it doesn’t stop me from feeling sorry for her. She’s gotten a raw deal from Ron, and I do remember what _that_ feels like. Granted, the betrayal was on a much smaller scale, but it was a betrayal none-the-less.” Leaning forward, Lavender said quietly, “Ron was my first real love, and one doesn’t forget that. Hermione might not have my friendship, but she does have my sympathy.”

 

With that, Lavender threw her napkin beside her uneaten salad and gathered up her purse. The chair she sat in made an ungodly screech as she shoved it back. Heedless of the stares and whispers around her, she dropped several coins which clattered against the outer rim of her dinnerware. “I won’t be meeting you for drinks tomorrow. Viktor’s going to be in town.”

 

“I thought he wasn’t coming until Friday,” Ginny said, baffled.

 

Lavender stated matter-of-factly, “He wasn’t supposed to be, but he owled me two days ago of his change in plans.”

 

“But we always have drinks on Thursday! It’s tradition!” Ginny exclaimed, immensely annoyed.

 

“That’s precisely what I told Viktor when he told me he would arrive early. He very graciously agreed to stay with the rest of his team-mates until Friday so that we could enjoy our weekly girl’s night out.” Lavender smoothed out the folds of her robes. “There'll be no need for that now. I’m off to floo him to let him know of my change in plans.”

 

“But, why,” Ginny asked, confused, “if he said he wouldn’t mind hanging out with his mates until Friday?”

 

“Because, Gin, I don’t think I’ll be able to be in the same room as you for a little while.” Ginny’s mouth fell open. “I’ll see you, when I see you.” With that, Lavender turned and with dramatic flair, made her way out of the restaurant.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**An un-named pub in the Wizarding World:**

 

“We’ve got to do something about Hermione!”

 

Harry sighed. Here we go again. When was Ron going to get over this? Every conversation Harry had with Ron somehow ended up on the subject of Hermione Granger, and always along the same vein.

 

 

“Leave her alone, mate. That’s the best you can do.”

 

Ron’s head swiveled toward Harry so fast that his reddish-orange hair slapped against his flushed cheeks. Flushed from too much drinking, Harry thought worriedly. Ron had been chugging far too much liquor of late, and Harry guessed he ought to mention it and his concerns; but he didn’t. Recently, Ron’s mood had been volatile at best. Engaging him in a heart-to-heart about the dangers of abusing alcohol wouldn’t be welcome and would more than likely end up with a wand being drawn on him.

 

“One fuck up,” Ron exclaimed while holding up a finger. “One!” he reiterated, as if Harry hadn’t heard him the first time, “and she chucks it all! Who does that?!”

 

Harry reached across the bar and pulled a bowl of peanuts closer. Taking a few, he popped them in his mouth, munching on them slowly. After a while, Harry felt compelled to say, “Yeah, well, it was quite the fuck up. And it didn’t help that your fuck up was splashed across every tabloid from here to all the other continents of the Earth.”

 

Ron glared at Harry through bleary eyes. “How was I to know the daft bitch would go about gloating to anyone that’d listen? Huh?”

 

 

Harry glared right back, and demanded, “How could you not?” Running a hand through his messy black mop, Harry said, “Merlin, Ron, of course she was going to blab! There are more hero-whores out there than we’ll ever be able to count. The sheets probably weren’t even cool before she was hot trotting it to the nearest floo.”

 

Ron’s complexion blanched a bit. It wasn’t often that Harry didn’t give him his unwavering support, but his discomfort was short lived. “If she really loved me she would have forgiven me! Anyways,” Ron mumbled defensively, “to my way of thinking, we were on a break!”

 

Harry’s green eyes grew wide. “How much of a break could it have been?” he demanded. “You were living together!”

 

After downing another deep swallow, Ron continued, “She wouldn’t sleep with me, Harry. That’s got the ring of a break all right. I got stuck with the couch. The bleeden’ couch!” Ron snorted. “Said I snored and that she needed her sleep; said she couldn’t rest with me sounding like a Hippogriff in heat.” He slammed the tankard on the bar and stated adamantly, “It wasn’t my fault that another witch liked what she saw. I ain’t some bloody monk! If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s hers! Weren’t for her, this whole blasted thing would never have happened.”

 

“That’s a load of BS, and you know it.” Harry popped a few more peanuts, venting his frustration at Ron by chewing them viciously. “You’re just using that as some sort of half-arsed excuse for cheating.”

 

Leaning toward Harry, Ron snarled angrily, “You’re always taking ‘Mione’s side. Whenever we have a falling out, there you are, good ole Harry Potter to the rescue with a shoulder or a home to crash in!”

 

Harry snapped back. “What did you expect me to do, Ron? Did you want me to slam the door in her face? Turn my back on one of my dearest friends when she needed me?” Harry shoved the bowl of peanuts aside. “You’ve just got your boxers in a bind because she dumped your sorry arse before you got back and had a chance to try to explain away your behavior.”

 

“Well,” Ron sputtered, “the bloody lease on the flat won’t be up for another six months! How the hell am I supposed to pay for it without Hermione? When she came blubbering to you, you could have said, ‘No, Hermione, you gotta go back home and work things out with Ron’ or ‘I’d welcome you with open arms only I know if I did you’d regret it.’ You couldn’t do that though, could you?” Wiping a hand across his slightly sweaty face he added in a tired voice, “Least you could have done was let me move in with you instead of her.”

 

Harry could not believe his ears. Ron was worried about not making the rent? Was all his moaning and lamenting about losing Hermione a cover for being left to handle the bills that a lone Auror’s salary couldn't meet? Harry was hoping not, because if that were the case, then Ron really _did_ have the emotional range of a teaspoon.

 

Harry asked the bartender for another bottle of butterbeer, and then said, “That’s something you say when a couple has a simple run-of-the-mill argument, which this clearly wasn't.”

 

Harry would never forget the pounding on the door that had woken him from a deep sleep that morning. He’d rolled over, whipped his wand out from underneath his pillow and, in nothing but his boxers, ran to the stairs. It took his sleep-addled brain a second to realize that only someone he knew would have been able to be making such a racket. Only his nearest and dearest had access to Grimmauld Place.

 

"As soon as he flung the door open, he was being clutched frantically by a quivering, sobbing mass of Hermione Granger." At first, Harry had been positive something dreadful had happened to Ron. He’d been off on an assignment, and while it hadn’t been a dangerous one, in odd instances benign assignments had been known to go south.

 

He’d quickly ushered Hermione in, settled her on the sofa, and tried desperately to understand the garbled mess that was coming out of her mouth. But, no matter how attentively he’d listened, he hadn’t been able to decipher any of it. To Harry’s credit, Ancient Runes hadn’t been a class he’d even come close to excelling in. And, to his untrained ear, what Hermione was spouting had sounded an awful like that.

 

When Hermione had finally taken a good look at him and it had become clear to her that Harry hadn’t a hope of understanding her indecipherable babble, she had thrust several papers into his hand. He hadn’t even noticed them, so concerned had he been. After sparing Hermione a questioning glance, he had unfolded the scrunched up pile.

 

There on the front page had been a picture of Ron in his Auror robes receiving the badge and certificate which officially declared him a graduate of the finest Auror Academy in Britain. He’d been grinning and waving to the cheering crowd. Next to him stood Hermione, sporting a proud smile and gazing at Ron with eyes that shone.

 

Beside it, was a photo of a dark haired woman with an overly made up face. Harry supposed she could have been considered attractive in a coarse sort of way. Her mode of dress certainly left little to the imagination, while her scarlet lips formed a provocative moue.

 

Then, the words flashing off of the paper had sunk in. Harry had drawn a deep breath. Ron had cheated on Hermione? Impossible! Yet here it was in black and white. This, this … woman was claiming to have had sex with Ronald Weasley, Hero of the Wizarding War!

 

Harry’s head shot up from his reading to find Hermione watching him closely. Her eyes were dark pools of wet, wounded anger. “This...” Harry sputtered, shaking the paper in his hand, “this can’t be right! He’d never…” Harry paused when she shook her curl- tangled head from side-to-side. Grabbing her hand, Harry stated more firmly, “It’s a load of rubbish, Hermione, and by Rita-bleeding-Skeeter no less! It’s trash, nothing more. You have to know that!”

 

Hermione had gotten herself sufficiently under control; she’d swiped the other papers from Harry, and slapped them down on the coffee table. Then, she’d spread them apart as if they were a deck of cards. After giving her clenched fingers a comforting squeeze, Harry had leaned over and separated the papers more evenly. To his dismay, on the front page of each and every one was a similar story to that of the Daily Prophet.

 

Even with the evidence before him, Harry had still assumed there’d been some sort of mistake and said, “Lots of people go to the press with false tales wanting their fifteen minutes of fame.” Furious, he exclaimed angrily, “We’ll sue every one of their sorry arses for libel, that’s what we’ll do!”

 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione had cried wretchedly. She’d pushed the other papers to the floor and picked up the one that was still left on the table. Rifling through the pages, Hermione had pulled one page back with so much force that the top part of it ripped. Wordlessly, she’d jabbed at one particular paragraph.

 

Harry’d quickly scanned the pointed out portion, mouthing the words as he read. So far, other than throwing around a bunch of muck that could have easily been false, he had seen nothing of consequence. Then Harry’s eyes had grown wide in shock as the next sentence struck him like a stinging hex. Within those lines had been the telling information which proved the veracity of the other woman’s claims.

 

 

“Oh, Hermione,” Harry’d exclaimed in despair, squeezing her hand to the point of pain. “I am so sorry.”

 

Turning her hand so that their fingers intertwined, she’d answered in a trembling voice, “You didn’t do anything, Harry. Ron’s the rat bastard who did this.”

 

 

Harry had tried not to show his surprise at her language. She’d always been a stickler when it came to swearing. Though in this instance, he couldn’t really have blamed her for her momentary lapse. Instead, he’d agreed. "You got that right.”

 

With a swish of his wand, Harry’d produced a cool, damp towel and handed it to Hermione. She’d taken it with a tremulous, though grateful smile and pressed it against her blotchy and overheated face.

 

After she’d wiped the cloth across her swollen eyes, she’d said, “I can’t go back there, can’t stay in that flat.” Her voice broke. “He’s all over, everywhere I look.” Pressing a hand to her stomach, she cried, “I get sick just thinking about staying where he’s been!”

 

“Of course, of course,” Harry murmured while pushing a few strands of her messy hair behind her ear. “You can stay here.”

 

“Really?” Hermione’s face had brightened somewhat.

 

Smiling, Harry’d assured her, “My home is your home for as long as you like. Now,” he’d said, trying to sound a tad cheerful, “Do you feel up to going back for your things?”

 

 

Giving Harry a sheepish half smile, Hermione had reached into an interior pocket of her robes and pulled out a bag. Harry’d recognized it immediately from their days of hunting Horcruxes.

 

“I took a chance that you’d invite me to stay,” she’d explained.

 

Harry had gone silent for a moment, and then let out a laugh that had brought a true smile to Hermione’s face.

 

* * *

 

 

“You could always move back to the Burrow,” Harry suggested to Ron before bringing his bottle to his lips once more..

 

Ron cringed. “Don’t know about that. Mum’s been a right terror to live with. Leastways, that’s how Ginny tells it.”

 

Now, it was Harry’s turn to cringe. Mrs. Weasley hadn’t been too happy to discover where Hermione’s new abode was. She’d read him the riot act, stating it wasn’t seemly for Hermione to be setting up residence with three bachelors. Not that Sirius or Remus had minded in the least. Even so, Mrs. Weasley had made Harry feel like a first year again— it hadn’t been pleasant at all. Still, Harry had managed to bear her immense displeasure without caving. Harry hadn’t known who’d been more surprised, Mrs. Weasley or him.

 

“Maybe if you was to talk to Hermione, she’d come round.” Warming to his subject, Ron continued in excitement. “She trusts you, mate! You could convince her, I know you could!”

 

“Forget it, Ron,” Harry replied in a flat voice. “On this, Hermione won’t listen. Besides, I have no interest in doing your dirty work. Man up already, and accept defeat.”

 

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Ron yelled, catching the attention of several other people sitting at the bar. “You’re supposed to be my friend too! A little help, please!”

 

“Keep it down, you idiot,” Harry hissed. “You know as well as I that we have to keep a low profile. Like we really need to give the press any more fodder to work off of.”

 

Ron gave him a dirty look, but to Harry’s relief lowered his voice. “Fine! All I’m saying is, we’ve been best mates since we been eleven, even before Hermione.”

 

If Ron was expecting Harry to feel guilty he was in for one hell of a shock. “If Hermione had been the one in the wrong we’d be sitting here having an entirely different conversation.”

 

The bartender made his way to where Harry and Ron were seated, and quietly inquired, “Mr. Potter?”

 

Harry glanced at the bartender, and warily admitted, “Yeah.”

 

The bartender grinned, and then said, “Thought so. There’s a floo call for you in the back.”

 

Harry’s eyes followed the direction of the man’s thumb to a set of double doors set up so that most people wouldn’t even notice they were there. Harry had been here a dozen times and hadn’t seen them before either.

 

The bartender whispered in a conspiratory manner, “We keep it charmed so that only the staff can see it.” He gave Harry an audacious wink before saying, “But the boss said it was okay to let you through.”

 

“Um, okay.” Harry stood up and walked behind the bar. He could feel Ron’s curious gaze burning a hole in his back. Pushing through one side of the wooden apertures, Harry found himself in a small storage area; in the far corner stood the floo. He crossed the room and gazed into the flames. Looking back at him was the angry face of Ginerva Weasley.

 

“Harry,” she spat out, “why can’t I get into Grimmauld Place? I was standing out there for at least half an hour trying every which way I know how to enter, and having no success!”

 

Harry sighed. Why’d Ginny have to be so pushy about this? Hermione needed time to deal with all that had happened. But, Ginny – as well as several other people of their acquaintance – felt the last two months was long enough for Hermione to get over it. Harry knew different. His best female friend still suffered over Ron’s indiscretion.

 

Hermione Granger had a really, _really_ long memory. The Weasleys were unaware of this because Hermione had taken Ron back almost immediately after he’d returned to help them continue the search for the Horcruxes. It had given the mistaken impression that Hermione wasn’t one to hold a grudge. In most things, that assumption was fairly accurate, but this had been a betrayal of the most heinous kind. It was going to take some time for Hermione to come round.

 

 

“Hermione asked me to change the wards, so I did,” was Harry’s calm rejoinder.

 

Ginny clicked her tongue in annoyance, and asked, “Why?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know, Gin,” he began, sounding sarcastic. “Maybe the fact that you and your mum have been hounding Hermione relentlessly since this entire fiasco began just might, might have something to do with it.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” she exclaimed. “We’re just concerned.”

 

“When Hermione wants to see you, the wards will be changed so that they’ll recognize your magical signatures again,” he explained patiently. “Till then,” he shrugged, “you’re out of luck.”

 

The look on Ginny’s face was murderous. “I’ll remember this, Harry,” she promised him.

 

He replied nonchalantly, “You do that. I have to be going now; I have a butterbeer with my name written all over it waiting for me.” With that, he turned his back on her and strode toward the double doors, leaving Ginny to stew in her juices.


	2. Coffee With Krum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione meets up with an old friend, and they share coffee and fond memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not great when it comes to writing accents, so I hope you'll forgive my attempt at putting Viktor's down on paper.

**Something About Hermione**

**Chapter 2**

**“*** Zdraveite, skupi edno.”

 

Hermione rose to her feet with a brilliant smile and eagerly grasped the male hands reaching for her own. “Hello, Viktor it’s wonderful to see you.”

 

His face broke out into a transformative grin, and while Viktor Krum most certainly couldn’t be categorized as a handsome wizard, he was definitely attractive in a manly sort of way. She had always thought so, even when she’d found his immense popularity tiresome during the Tri-Wizard tournament.

 

She’d been scrunched up in a small corner space of the library researching for anything that might help Harry make it through the tasks of the tournament when Viktor had first approached her all those years ago.  She had been partially hidden by a massive pile of already thumbed through items taken from the many aisles all around her. Hours had gone by, but she was still hard at it, which was a true testament of her dedication to her best friend.

 

Viktor had lowered himself with silent grace into the chair situated across the table from her, but it wasn’t until she’d heard a clearing of a throat that she became aware that she was no longer alone. Locking eyes with Viktor Krum had been a bit of a shock. In truth, at the time, she couldn’t have been more surprised than if she’d looked up and had found Voldemort sitting there.

 

“Can I help you,” she’d asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable at being the focus of such a powerfully intense gaze. She’d shifted uneasily when he’d remained silent, but had been determined not to allow herself to feel intimidated by those dark, deep-set, unblinking eyes. A scant moment later another adjective describing his eyes had barreled across her brain … Beautiful. Truly, really, disturbingly, and astonishingly beautiful.

 

Hermione wasn’t one to notice such things, but when the evidence was smacking you in the face it was difficult to ignore. They were remarkably distinctive in regard to their shade which was the color of the rich, moist, black soil that her mum used when transplanting trees outside of their house, and right now they were studying her with as much intensity as she’d been giving her book.

 

Then, the thought had struck her that perhaps Viktor was also in search of information and it wouldn’t have been unheard of for him to have been told that if he’d wanted to locate something quickly that she would be the person to ask. It was no secret that she could find just about anything in this vast room within seconds. Movement from the top of the table drew her gaze. His large hands were clasped together tightly. One of his thumbs was periodically tapping the top of the other. Then he spoke.

 

“I am, Viktor,” he stated, then, sending a quick glance at her book, asked with a touch of trepidation flashing across his Quidditch-battered face, “I interrupt? I have no vish to disturb your studies.” 

 

Hermione had carefully lowered the large book until it rested flat on top of the table, and then quietly replied, “It’s fine.” Cocking her head to the side she’d asked with stark curiosity swimming in her eyes, “Is there something I can help you find? A book or parchment perhaps?”

 

“No, no. I thank you. You very kind.” Clearing his throat again, Viktor continued, “I vas vundering if you like to join me in your leetle town?” When she just looked at him in confusion, he continued, sounding a bit confused him self, “It is the custum, yes… to invite to trip?”

 

And then it hit Hermione. Could Viktor Krum be asking her, _her_ to go into Hogsmeade with him? Although, intellectually Hermione was able to process the invitation, her brain was still having a rough time believing that this well-known and much sought after person was asking her to walk into Hogsmeade as his companion. The whole thing had been beyond surreal.

 

Wanting to make sure she had understood him correctly, Hermione questioned, “Are you asking me to go to Hogsmeade with you?”

 

She’d formed the words carefully and spoke slowly taking into consideration his limited knowledge of the English language. For all she knew he was simply asking her for directions to the town and nothing more.

 

Immediately his face brightened, and nodding his head in a vigorous manner he’d answered her with an emphatic, “Da!”

 

“Oh,” she’d breathed in quiet astonishment. Still not quite positive that he was actually inviting her to go as his date, Hermione ventured to ask, “Do you need a guide? Someone to show you the way? I could draw up a map for you. It’s quite easy to find once you know the landmarks to watch out for.”

 

“Landmarks,” he’d asked with a mystified expression written on his strong features.

 

It was clear that he hadn’t caught on to her meaning, so she tried to simplify things by adding, “You can’t Apparate to a place you haven’t been to before, so I suppose you need someone to walk you to Hogsmeade. I’m sure one of the Professors could show you how to get there.”

 

“No, no,” he’d hurriedly denied while looking highly frustrated. “I vish you to allow me escort you. No guiding. I escort.”

 

He _was_ asking her to Hogsmeade! Viktor Krum was most definitely inviting her and not just to help him get there either. He wanted to accompany her… to escort her… to be her _date_. Unbelievable!

 

Hermione had swallowed hard, and then asked in a voice that sounded like a frog had taken up residence, “Why?”

 

It was just so difficult for her to unravel why he’d want to be with her, of all people, when so many eager witches were angling for his time and attention. ‘Many’ probably didn’t even come close to covering it. Here was a man who’d had witches following him around in dim-witted droves!

 

Viktor’s thick, dark brows lowered into a deep frown, “Vy not?”

 

A very good question, Hermione had conceded. Why not indeed?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ever the gentleman, Viktor pulled her chair out for her and pushed it in after she’d reseated herself. Clasping her hands together and resting them on the table, she stated with warmth, “I was thrilled to receive your owl. How have you been, and how long are planning on staying in the area?”

 

“As of yet, I know not how long I stay. Othervise, all is vell. And you?”

 

Hermione’s gaze momentarily slid away from his. She didn’t know how to answer that, and wondered if he knew the hell she’d been going through. She settled for a simple, “Oh, I’ve been better.”

 

He sighed. “Yes, I hear of your troubles.”

 

She had to confess that there had been a part of her that had hoped that with his grueling Quidditch schedule he wouldn’t have had a chance to read the multitude of papers proclaiming Ron’s inability to keep his manly bits in his trousers.

 

“I have been distressed for you.” The honest sympathy in his eyes had her heavy heart constricting painfully in her chest.  “I ask to meet at Muggle shop so you be more comfortable. No – as you say – prying eyes.”

 

Hermione felt the now familiar prickling of tears. “Thank-you,” she managed to get out in a choked whisper.

 

The Bulgarian Seeker took her hands gently into his own, then gazing steadily into her stricken eyes he raised them to his lips where he placed a small kiss on the knuckles of one, and then the other. Craggy features broke into a playful grin as he remarked wryly, “I remember you prefer coffee to tea.”

 

Hermione blushed. Viktor was, of course, referring to their one and only trip to Madame Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. It had been a disaster in the fact that Hermione had detested the place before both of her feet had made it passed the doorframe.

 

For one, the color scheme had left little to be desired. Pink, pink, and _more_ pink. Hermione had been under the mistaken impression that the shop only took on such a nauseating color in deference to Valentine’s Day. Apparently, it was a year round deal.

 

Starched doilies in a variety of shapes and sizes had been stationed on every available surface, and even those minute pieces of cloth hadn’t escaped the Pepto Bismal-like décor. The chunky witch behind the counter had been appalled when Hermione had made mention of the monochromatic color scheme. The older woman had exclaimed that they had not been merely pink. My goodness, no! They’d been shades of Blush and Bashful!

 

Hermione might have been able to overlook the heinous hues and disgusting décor if not for the very air in the place. It had been beyond sickening due to the massive amount of roses and lilies that had been placed throughout the rather small room. That, in and of itself, had been bad enough but, to Hermione’s immense annoyance, they’d all been charmed to exhale their putrid scent every two seconds. With the doors and windows shut against the winter chill there had been no ventilation whatsoever.

 

Viktor’s rather large nose had continually twitched, and it had been obvious by his slightly pained expression that he had liked the place about as much as she had. But, he’d stoically refused to give way because he’d wanted her to enjoy their first date together. And hadn’t he been informed by a reliable source that Madame Puddifoot’s was the place to impress a witch?

 

They’d just been served their tea in shallow, tiny cups when the door had opened allowing a cool draft of unpolluted air to sweep inside. Hermione had inhaled deeply taking in the refreshing breeze which had granted her grateful lungs some much needed relief. The tinkling of the bell above the door had barely finished its chime when a set of familiar giggles drew Hermione’s attention to its source.

 

Lavender Brown had stood in the doorway and was in the midst of unraveling her crimson and gold scarf. Her windswept blonde curls had been tangled about her prettily flushed face, and as she’d looked back over her shoulder at an unseen someone she’d let out another flirtatious giggle. A few seconds later the previously unseen person had moved in close behind Lavender and when Hermione had spied who it was she’d had to blink hard several times to make sure that she hadn’t been hallucinating. It had been Gregory Goyle!

 

Hermione’s eyes had nearly popped out of her head, but it didn’t compare by a long shot to the shock on Lavender’s face when she’d seen Hermione two tables over. To this day, Hermione had never been quite sure if it had been because Lavender had been discovered in the company of one of Malfoy’s brainless buffoons, if it had been the fact that she’d been caught out at Hogsmeade during what should have been school hours, or if it had been because Hermione Granger had been seen having a cozy tête-à-tête with Viktor Krum. Whatever the case may have been, Lavender had hastily grabbed Goyle by his beefy arm and pulled him toward a table where they wouldn’t have been easily seen should anyone else enter the shop.

 

Not that there had been too many people to hide from. Other than a scattered smattering of people, no one else appeared to be frequenting the tea shop. During a normal Hogsmeade weekend the place would have been bursting with students, but this wasn’t a normal weekend and Lavender and Goyle had obviously snuck out by taking advantage of a secret passageway. 

 

Hermione, on the other hand, had been given special permission to be away from Hogwarts. Viktor had very politely asked Dumbledore that they be allowed to leave school grounds while the rest of the students were still in class. It looked as if the Headmaster was going to refuse Viktor’s request until he’d quietly informed Dumbledore that his reason for doing so was to protect the young witch standing by his side.

 

He’d gone on to explain that when one was in the public eye, and considered by many to be the reigning iconic star of the Quidditch pitch – that pronouncement had been accompanied by a wave of scarlet heat which had been a clear indication that Viktor did not see him self in the same light – that rabid fans would not hesitate to harass anyone who he might show a preferential partiality toward. Hermione was positive that it had been that statement that had swung the Headmaster’s decision in Viktor’s favor.

 

Viktor, who had just taken a small bite of one of Madam Puddifoot’s overly sweet cakes, had noticed nothing amiss nor given any indication that he’d been aware of the entrance of the truant duo. He did, however, take note that she’d lowered her cup without having taken a single sip. He’d enquired as to whether or not the taste was to her liking, to which she’d replied that she had a preference for coffee over that of their present beverage. He’d sent her a relieved smile and had suggested that they walk about outside instead of lingering since neither was inclined especially toward tea and crumpets.

 

Hermione had been more than happy to oblige him. They’d strolled through the main street heading to nowhere in particular. To her surprise he hadn’t stopped to gawk at the newest broom highlighted in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. The boys she knew would have been slobbering all over themselves while shoving each other out of the way so that they could press their faces closer to the much coveted piece of wood.

 

And, although Hermione had been itching to check out what new delights Flourish & Blott’s might have been harboring, she’d been able to restrain herself. After all, if Viktor was willing to forgo his passion in order to keep her company she should at least be able to match him.

 

Viktor had been sweetly attentive during their walk, and when she’d stumbled on a loose cobblestone, he’d taken her gently by the elbow steering her closer so that he could draw her arm through the crook of his own. His hand had been warm atop hers and every now and again he’d give it a gentle squeeze. Generally, this had happened whenever he became especially passionate about a particular subject of conversation.

 

He was amazingly well versed on a variety of subjects, and he’d held her captive by explaining the differences between the classes offered at Hogwarts versus those at Durmstrang. She’d almost hugged him when he’d offered, upon their return, to display spells and counter-spells that she would normally have had to wait another three years to view and master. He’d impressed her enormously when he informed her, with charming modesty, that he’d created several spells of his own.

 

Hermione had all but begged him to demonstrate those particular spells immediately. Viktor’s face had split into a pleased grin, but he’d declined, saying that he would rather enjoy the bright, beautiful day with an equally bright and charming woman. It had taken a few seconds to realize that he’d been speaking about her, and when the compliment had finally sunk in she’d blushed and stammered so hard that he’d laughed out loud.

 

Viktor had been the first wizard that had made her heart pound unevenly, her pulse skip wildly and her breath catch quickly in her throat each and every time he’d cast his obsidian eyes in her direction. Ron had been her first crush, but Viktor had been the one to make her feel those first, hitherto unknown tempestuous longings of a sexual nature. Her body responded to him as readily as her mind did and, for Hermione, it had been the most marvelous blending of natures that she’d ever known.

 

During their months of stolen time together, Viktor had maintained the stance of perfect gentleman, even when it had been she that had pushed for something more intimate. He had been more than happy to kiss her lingeringly and to hold her close while running his strong calloused fingers along the length of her spine, but that’s where he’d stop. It had been after one particularly ardent session when she’d grown impatient with his light caresses that he’d taken her face gently between his hands and with immense tenderness explained his hesitation on deepening the physical side of their relationship.

 

“You are young, skupi edno. I have no vish to hurry. There is time for the making of love. You are deserving of so much good things.” He ran his thumb over her trembling lips. “Please, do not weep,” he earnestly beseeched her when he’d noticed the tears that had gathered on her lashes. “You think I reject you?”

 

She’d let out a long, tremulous breath before whispering, “Yes, that’s how I feel.” She placed one of her hands on top of his and pressed his palm more firmly against her cheek. “I know that I’m not pretty,” her voice had cracked painfully as she admitted to one of her most secret insecurities. She’d always managed to give off the impression that looks weren’t important to her, especially when it came to her own, and it was true up to a point. Still, she was only human and Viktor – wonderful man that he was – had given her the gift of making her feel pretty by doting on her and showering her with affection. But, he’d never actually _said_ that she was pretty to him. “You probably know so many pretty girls; girls who made you want to do more than just kiss them.

 

Hermione hadn’t come right out and questioned him about his sexual history, but she was awfully certain that he’d been vastly experienced in the ways of women. She’d certainly found him wonderfully proficient and had thought that it might have been her lack of looks and feminine wiles that had failed to lure him into something more intimate. It had been a disheartening thought, but she couldn’t fathom any other reason for his restraint.

 

“You are not pretty” he’d agreed, much to Hermione’s dismay. “You, skupi edno, are most beautiful!” There was no denying the depth of his sincerity for it was stamped plainly on his features. “I vould take you this moment if you meant nothing to me.” Hermione’s breath had caught in her throat at the scorching heat of brazen desire blazing from his eyes. “Quick tumble vith you no good,” he declared emphatically, and then followed it with an equally emphatic, “I vill not take your innocence vhen there is no love!”

 

There it was. _The_ word. The unmentioned one that had been making more than a fleeting trip through her head these last few months, and she’d often wondered where Viktor had stood when it came to their burgeoning relationship and how that word fit in to the equation. It looked as of her wondering days were over.

 

Licking her lips, she’d ventured to ask in a small voice, “You don’t love me, is that what you’re trying to say?”

 

It had taken all of her strength to utter those words, because she hadn’t been looking forward to listening to the inevitable outcome. Although she’d long since resigned her self to the notion that he’d eventually let her down - let’s face reality here – she just wasn’t the sort that someone of his stature fell for. Yet, even knowing that, she also knew that when the blow finally came it’d be devastating.

 

When Viktor had dropped his hands and taken a step back, Hermione’s heart had given a violent, sickening lurch. The absence of his warm hands had robbed her body of all its internal heat, replacing it with an ache-chilled emptiness that was astonishing in its intensity. The deeply molded mouth, which she’d grown to love, had opened but when the words had finally fallen from his lips, they had been a monstrous shock.

 

“It is you who do not love me,” he’d informed her with a great deal of sadness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hermione stirred her coffee in thoughtful silence while ruminating over what had been some of the last words Viktor Krum had spoken to her. They’d seen each other a few times afterward and while he’d been unfailingly polite he hadn’t sought her out privately. She’d been hurt and confused by his actions but, to be honest, the majority of her time had been taken up with Harry, so there had been little opportunity to sit around and mope about it.

 

That lasted until Viktor’s last day before his departure from Hogwarts. They’d all been in the courtyard watching the girls from Beaxbatons fly away in their carriage when he’d pressed a piece of parchment into her hand. She’d felt the light caress of his lips against her temple, but when she’d turned, he’d already been striding purposefully to where a throng of his classmates stood waiting to board the ship back to Durmstrang.

 

She’d raced back to the Gryffindor tower safe in the knowledge that it would be relatively empty as just about everyone else was still milling about outside. Sliding her thumb under the red seal she broke open the wax and pulled one of the edges free. There had been only a few lines scratched out in Viktor’s bold handwriting. It had been his address and only two other words: _Please write_.

 

“You know, we should never have stopped writing to each other,” Hermione admonished over the rim of her coffee mug. “I know we kept it up for a while.” And they had for well over a year, but when Voldemort began his rise to power once more, it had been almost an impossibility for various reasons.

 

Hermione had been out on the search for Horcruxes, and even if that hadn’t been the case, it still wouldn’t have been wise to keep up their correspondence. Any Pureblood linked with a Muggleborn, especially one who was a friend to Harry Potter, would have been labeled a blood traitor or worse.

 

Viktor smiled warmly before saying, “I vas grateful you write so often. They mean much to me.” Shrugging his elegantly clad shoulders, he added, “But vas hard vith so much travel. Quidditch take most of my time.”

 

“There’s no need to feel bad, Viktor!” Hermione, rushed to say. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty or any such nonsense. I didn’t exactly put forth much of an effort after awhile either. I could easily have taken up a quill after the War ended, but didn’t. I’m really very sorry about that.”

 

With no embarrassment, Viktor informed her, “I keep all your letters.” At her look of surprise he chuckled. “Is true. They have been all over vorld vith me.”

 

With a sweet gurgle of laughter she admitted, “I still have all of yours too. It’s a thing all females do.”

 

“Pish!” He exclaimed as way of a denial. “Not only for females! Men treasure such things as vell. Boys… not so much. At time of meeting you I vas man already so I know of importance of such things.”

 

Hermione set her mug down and regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. “I didn’t appreciate or deserve you back then, Viktor.” Looking down, she continued, “You were so good to me, and I… I was too young to understand just how wonderful you’d been.”

 

“I be honest,” Viktor declared quietly, “you meant much to me. I had not cared for someone much as I did you vhen I come to Hogvarts for tournament.” Placing a hand on the left side of his chest he continued, “Here, in this place, I hurt for long time.” At her stricken look, he hastened to assure her, “You too young to know vhat you vanted. This I understand. There is no blame on you, skupi edno.”

 

Reaching for his hand and grasping it lightly, she breathed in awe, “You are a remarkable man, Viktor Krum. I might have been a silly, oblivious child in those days, but I still knew that you were special in so many ways. You took notice of a bushy-haired, flat chested, homely nobody, and made her feel like a princess.” Squeezing his hand, she added, “Thank you for that.”

 

Sweeping an appreciative glance over her, he smiled before stating, “You grow up nicely I think. Fill out in all right places.” Hermione felt her face flame with hot color. Lacing his fingers through hers, he chuckled before saying, “Vas not only face and body I admired. You have kindness in you. I like that you not chase me. Not impressed with fame and money mean nothing to you. You devoted friend also. Potter very lucky to have you.”

 

“I don’t know that he always thought so,” she replied with a dimpled grin of her own. “I’m pretty sure I drove him nearly mental with my bossy behavior.”

 

“Potter know your value,” Viktor argued her point. “He no stupid like others I could name.” Hermione went silent, knowing exactly who Viktor was speaking about. “I apologize. I speak out of turn. Forgive me.”

 

Hermione masked her pain behind a strained smile and said, “There’s nothing to forgive. What happened… happened. There’s no need for you to avoid the subject. It’s common knowledge.  My life is an open book for all to view,” she exclaimed bitterly.

 

“I should not have opened it,” Viktor rebutted her efforts to play it off. “Let us speak of more pleasant things. Da?”

 

They were interrupted by the waitress who asked if they’d like more coffee. Viktor gave an affirmative nod of his head while Hermione moved hers in the negative. If she drank too much she’d be up all night, and sleeping in a strange bed was already giving her restless nights. Then the waitress asked, “Would you like some crumpets to go with your coffee?”

 

Viktor and Hermione shared an amused look before breaking out into joint laughter. The waitress looked confused at their reaction, but wrote down their order for chocolate éclairs without comment.

 

“I think the poor woman thinks we’re laughing at her,” Hermione sputtered. “We should apologize and explain when she returns.”

 

Viktor shrugged his massive shoulders before saying, “I leave her big tip as compensation.”

 

Hermione, eyes still alight with laughter, said, “I suppose that’ll do. She’ll probably appreciate that far more than an explanation. Now,” she continued, “tell me what’s been happening with you.” Lifting her mug, she took a small swallow and then asked, “How has your team been doing this season?”

 

Hermione was long past being embarrassed by her lack of interest in Quidditch, but she still felt a twinge of guilt at not at least keeping up to date on Viktor’s standing in the sport.

 

“Vee do vell.” Heaving a deep sigh, he unexpectedly added, “I think of retiring.”

 

Hermione, in the midst of taking another sip of her coffee, dropped the mug on the table with a small thump. Viktor’s lips twisted into a rueful smile at her reaction.

 

“I have surprised you,” he asked unnecessarily.

 

“Well… yes,” Hermione agreed with obvious confusion. “I suppose I’d never given much thought to you not playing Quidditch as you love the sport so much.”

 

“Is true,” he answered quietly, “but I am not young man anymore.”

 

Hermione’s brow dipped into a deep frown before she answered indignantly, “That’s utterly ridiculous! You’re in your prime, Viktor! Barely thirty for goodness sake!”

 

Viktor took her well-intentioned reprisal in stride and explained good-naturedly, “Thirty is old for Seeker, skupi edno. Better to retire in prime than to vait for others suggest I do so, and for vhat? A few years more? Is no important.”

 

“Still, Viktor, it’s such a huge step. Are you quite certain that you’re prepared to give it up and all of the perks that go with the profession? I got the impression that you really enjoyed all the traveling. In your letters you used to go on and on about how exciting it was to visit and explore all of those new and exotic places.”

 

Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of the waitress. She carried a slightly pained expression on her face and nervously informed them, “I’m very sorry but we only have one éclair left.”

 

Immediately Viktor said, “You take, skupi edno.”

 

“It’s probably better that I don’t. Chocolate doesn’t always agree with me,” she replied, “but thank you for your chivalry.” Looking at the waitress, Hermione asked, “Do you have cheesecake by any chance?”

 

Nodding her head enthusiastically, the waitress elaborated by saying, “We make it home-made every day, and it’s quite delicious. It’s one of our specialties.” Then she added, sounding very proud, “People come back again and again for the cheesecake alone!”

 

“Wonderful,” Hermione breathed. “I’ll have a slice with a dab of whipped cream.”

 

“We have a lovely raspberry compote or a strawberry one, if you prefer, to go along with the cheesecake.”

 

Hermione smiled warmly before saying, “No thanks. I’m a bit of a purist when it comes to my cheesecake.”

 

“Fine. I’ll be back shortly with your order.”

 

“You sure you not prefer éclair,” Viktor asked with a worried frown.

 

Hermione was incredibly touched by his generosity. Ron wouldn’t have thought twice about taking the éclair for himself. He wouldn’t have offered to share it either. She’d not thought too much on it in the past, but now, with Viktor to place along side him in comparison, she could recognize just how selfish Ron had been.

 

He’d been stingy with his time, with his attention, with his understanding of her work hours, with her opposing opinions or with _any_ opinions she might have had. He’d become adept at tuning her out whenever she’d wanted to discuss her thoughts and concerns, especially when it came to their relationship. Yet, when the berk had wanted something from her, he’d suddenly developed the ability to converse with great eloquence whether it be pertaining to sex or asking her to write out his work reports.

 

Where he’d got the notion that she’d be willing to practically write them for him was beyond her. She wouldn’t have minded proof-reading it but to write it out completely? No way. Ron had huffed and pouted like a little boy and when that hadn’t changed her mind he’d been downright mean. That behavior might have played on her conscience when they’d been at school, but Merlin’s beard, they were adults now and he could do his own damned reports!

 

The waitress returned once more bearing two plates, which she placed first in front of Hermione and then Viktor. Both the confections looked absolutely marvelous and Hermione couldn’t wait to dig into hers. By the way Viktor was eyeing his éclair he was on the same wavelength. Using the side of her fork, Hermione cut through the silky softness of her cake. She noticed with a slight quirk of her lips that Viktor had by-passed his utensil in favor of his fingers.

 

While the éclair was a nice-sized one it looked small in comparison with Viktor’s hand. Wrapping her lips around the tip of her fork she wondered wistfully if those large, lovely hands would have cradled her as carefully as he was now cradling his pastry had he been her first lover instead of Ron.

 

Not wanting to travel down that un-trod path, she said instead, “What did your manager say when you told him of your plans to retire? Did he have an apoplectic fit right then and there or did he manage to stave it off and explode in private?”

 

Licking his fingers free of stray custard, he said with a smirk, “He not pleased. To answer question… he have fit right avay. It not pleasant.” Hermione giggled before swallowing another bite of cheesecake. Viktor’s deep baritone laugh joined her own, and after wiping his mouth with his napkin, he said, “I think he need medi-witch.” Hermione’s brown eyes widened. “He create big scene, but no cause for vorry.”

 

Wanting to enjoy every last remnant of the superior cheesecake, Hermione used the tines of her fork to press down on the crumbs of the graham cracker crust until they adhered to the silverware, not even caring if it was bad manners to clean her plate like this. Viktor graced the woman across from him with an indulgent smile as she placed the wiped-clean utensil crossways on the plate.

 

“Allow me,” he gruffly requested, before reaching over and using his thumb to gently swipe the corner of her mouth. “You have leetle bit here.” Hermione blushed crimson, and belatedly reached for her napkin. His hand forestalled her movement. “No need. Is gone now.”

 

“Thank you,” she whispered, surprised at how breathless and husky those two simple words managed to sound. Clearing her throat, she asked, “What are you planning to do with your time now that Quidditch is exiting your life?”

 

Cocking his head to the side, he informed her, “I have been thinking of making potions new profession.”

 

“Potions,” she echoed dimly, amazed at this stunning turn of events. “I had no idea that potions held any interest for you.”

 

Spreading his hands in an expansive gesture, he answered back, “Is not videly known.  Karkaroff  know. He not encourage. He fear it take time from Quidditch.”

 

Outraged at this purposeful interference of Viktor’s education, Hermione sputtered, “Why that… that… low-life… that… that… moronic stooge! How could he have been so self-serving?! If he were here right now I’d box his ears! Hard!”

 

By the time Hermione had finished her tirade, Viktor was chuckling openly. Seeing the hurt expression settle on her face, Viktor rushed to assure her. “I no laugh at you, skupi edno. You like tigress to my defense. Is nice.”

 

Hermione’s face cleared and she laughed lightly before saying a tad self-consciously, “Most people think that I’m far too preoccupied when it comes to schooling and studies. Harry and Ron used to make fun of me all the time, especially when I spent much of the summers and holidays working on assignments and spells rather than doing nothing. They didn’t understand that I felt as if I had to work much harder to prove my worth. I wasn’t born to the Wizarding World like you or Ron. Harry, although raised in a Muggle society, was well known before he even entered Hogwarts. He was destined for the Wizarding life-style and was bound to be accepted much more readily.”

 

Viktor reached for Hermione’s hand and then said in a serious manner, “Stop this questioning of self. I meet no one vith such as abilities as you. Not matter if born to Muggles or to Vizards. All that matters is you born to be vitch!”

 

Touched, Hermione replied, “Not everyone is as broad-minded as you. Even now, after all that I’ve contributed, there are still those who won’t accept me or acknowledge my value.” Squeezing his hand, she continued sounding grateful, “You were one of the first Purebloods to publicly accept me with no thought whatsoever of whether or not it would reflect badly on you.”

 

“Pish!” Viktor scoffed, “such things mean nothing to me.” Lounging back in his chair while still retaining her hand in a light grasp, he pointed out, “You forget, I think, all those born vith no magic. Those vith magical parents but no magic of own.”

 

“Yes, but Viktor,” she exclaimed earnestly, “they’re almost always ostracized in some fashion or other! They’re either shut away by family members or are forced to reside in the Muggle world.” Sighing, she finished, “Rarely are they embraced by Wizarding society. It’s all so twisted especially when the birth of children are so desperately wanted. You’d think it wouldn’t matter if they were magical or not or even whether they came by way of Muggleborns or not.”

 

“Children very important, is true,” Viktor agreed. “I vould not abandon them if they born vith no magic. This is not good to do. All young ones is gifts.”

 

Resting the point of her chin in her palm, Hermione regarded him curiously, “You want children?

 

“Da!” he exclaimed with certainty. “Some day vhen time right.”

 

Hermione trained her eyes on her empty coffee mug. As she lazily traced the rim with a fingertip she asked quietly, “Is that something you’ve given much thought to recently?” At his startled expression, she hurriedly added, “I guess I’m wondering if your desire to have children is one of the reasons you’ve decided to retire.” Hermione’s babbling came to a screeching halt when she ended it with a, “Not that it’s any of my business, of course!”

 

“I think of children, is true,” he answered matter-of-factly. “More often of late, is also true.” Sending her a wide grin, he added, “Is just thoughts as of now. I set focus on new career.” Then, he said something that made Hermione’s mouth drop open. “Headmistress of Hogvarts offer me position of Potions Master.”

 

When she was able to gather her thoughts together again, Hermione all but shouted, “That’s wonderful, Viktor!” Sitting forward, her face shining with excitement, she asked, “Have you accepted the offer?! It would be absolutely brilliant to have you here!”

 

Gratified by her enthusiastic response, Viktor remarked, “I have not made choice as of yet. I still give serious thought to matter. Many things to consider.”

 

“Of course, of course,” Hermione agreed with a vigorous shake of her head. “But, I know Minerva and if she wants you to teach at Hogwarts that’s what you’ll end up doing. She’s a very determined witch.” The last was said with much affection.

 

“I like her very much. She remind me of Dumbledore in much ways.”

 

Hermione nodded again before saying, “I know what you mean although Dumbledore, I believe, had much more of a laid back visage whereas Minerva comes across as much more severe than what she actually is. She must have had to have developed that stern look in an attempt to quell the shenanigans of Harry’s father and godfather.”

 

Cocking his head to the side, Viktor commented casually, “I have heard you stay vith Potter and Black. Is true?”

 

“Oh, yes,” Hermione readily acknowledged. “Harry’s been so supportive and kind. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t invited me to stay with them. Incredibly enough, Grimmauld has turned out to be a real haven for me. It used to be so dismal and depressing, but Sirius had it remodeled after the War. Remus,” Hermione paused and then asked, “Do you know who I mean? Remus Lupin. He was one of my Professor’s during my third year.”

 

“I not know personally, but know of who you speak. I see him once. He have very sad face.”

 

Hermione’s smile faltered, “Yes,” she sighed. “He lost his wife during the final battle against Voldemort.  It’s been a trial trying to raise his son without her, but he’s doing an amazing job of it and Harry takes his role as godfather very seriously. Sirius is constantly by little Teddy’s side too. Between the three of them that little boy is getting quite the upbringing.”

 

“You are fond of this leetle child,” Viktor asked, although the answer was obvious.

 

“I defy anyone not to be,” was her serious rejoinder. “He’s quite the character, and so sweet and intelligent, much like his father. His mum was a Metamorphmagus and little Teddy has inherited that ability.”

 

Looking impressed, Viktor said, “He sound like fine boy.”

 

“Very much so. It’s even more evident now that I’ve been witness to it on a daily basis.” Flashing him a cajoling smile, she added, “You could find out how amazing he is for yourself if you accept Minerva’s offer. In a few years, he’ll be receiving his owl for admittance to Hogwarts.”

 

“That is incentive, to be sure,” he remarked with a glint of amusement. “I add to list of pros.”

 

“You do that,” Hermione agreed with a giggle although she thought it was a great idea. She was a big list maker too. A well put together list often helped put things into clearer and wider perspective.

 

A melodic ringing suddenly filled the space between them. Viktor reached into his pocket pulling out an exquisite timepiece. Hermione could tell that it was old because although it was buffed to a high shine, the metal was worn in several places. Flipping open the face, Viktor checked the time before breathing out an impatient oath.

 

With real regret in his voice, Viktor said, “I apologize, skupi edno… I must leave you.”

 

Hermione’s face fell. “Oh.”

 

“I vould stay, if I could,” he assured her. “I have much enjoyment being vith you.”

 

“It’s fine.” Hermione tried to play it off as unimportant. “I’m sure there are many people you’d like to catch up with so I mustn’t be stingy and take up all of your time.”

 

After placing several Muggle notes on the table in way of payment, Viktor said, “Come, valk vith me to Apparation point.” Pulling Hermione to her feet, he drew her hand through the crook of his elbow and began to guide her from the bistro.

 

At this familiar, yet foreign gesture, Hermione found herself battling an onslaught of conflicting emotions. Through a rush of overwhelming nostalgia, Hermione fought back tears before saying with forced brightness, “I’ve had a marvelous time, Viktor. Coffee was lovely, thank you. I’m so glad I got the opportunity to see you.”

 

“Is not over, skupi edno,” he rebuked her gently. “I send owl soon. Vee speak more, da?” Gripping his forearm, she answered with a small but genuine smile.

 

It took only minutes to reach their destination, and having reached it, Viktor enveloped Hermione into a tight bear hug, and whispered into her ear, “ ****** Vinaghee si fmislite mee!” **  
**

 

Hermione clutched at him convulsively, needing something strong and solid to cling to. She allowed herself to sink into the embrace, to revel in it, to luxuriate in its warmth. And, oh God… it had been so long since she’d felt warm or safe, and Viktor had always managed to make her feel both. But feeling those things could be dangerous too. They left a person too vulnerable and too open to hurt so she reluctantly disentangled herself.

 

After clearing her throat, Hermione graced him with a high-wattage grin and took a step back so that he could Apparate away in safety. But Viktor moved in close once more and gripped the side of her slender neck before bending to place a soft, fleeting kiss on her parted mouth. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone leaving Hermione feeling even more alone than ever before.

 

 

* * *

 

 

*** Zdraveite, skupi edno = Hello, dear one.**

 

****Vinaghee si fmislite mee = You are always in my thoughts**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have always harbored a fondness for Viktor, and I think part of it might be because he saw Hermione for the bright, beautiful and generous witch that she was way before anyone else caught on or took the time to notice.
> 
> I would love to hear who you would like Hermione to end up with.
> 
> I figured I could save myself the hassle of having Viktor try to say Hermione's name by having him give her a pet name and I thought 'skupi edno' (dear one) was a pretty good one.


	3. Ginny Makes Her Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny tries her hand at flirting with former Hufflepuff Hottie Cedric Diggory while Draco Malfoy decides it's time she's heard a few home truths about herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is Ginny bashing in this chapter.
> 
> Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own anything or make any money. The stack of bills on my end table can attest to that fact.

Something About Hermione

Chapter 3

Cedric whipped off the wire-rimmed spectacles he used for up close paperwork, and began rubbing his aching eyeballs with a thumb and forefinger; it didn’t help. He wished to hell that his partner wasn’t somewhere off in the Mediterranean diving for Davey Jones’ locker. The lucky bastard! Not that Cedric thought it was a coincidence that Jacob had gone off with his boyfriend near the end of the month when all the paperwork from their last assignments was due.

Jacob was notorious for his appalling note-taking abilities while interviewing people and his writing often resembled nothing more than indecipherable chicken scratch. Cedric didn’t mind putting up with his partner’s inability to pen a single coherent sentence because Jacob was the best when it came to covering your back. He owed Jacob twice over for saving his life, so he wasn’t going to gripe about getting stuck sitting at his desk over lunch so that he could get everything completed before his boss came stomping into his office demanding the reports. 

Their boss, Selene Martinello, was still been being a right, royal bitch. It was unfortunate that when he’d started working for her unit that she’d taken quite a shine to him, and though her overtures had been discreet, he’d known that she’d fully expected him to take her up on them. She wasn’t that much older than him, but stress and a nasty habit of smoking had definitely left their mark. He supposed that there had been a time when she’d been considered good looking because he could still see remnants of those good looks lurking around the rough edges of her face. 

When she’d first begun dropping hints, he’d already been dating a witch from the Care of Magical Creatures department and he wasn’t one to cheat. He’d been brought up much better than that and, although his parents seemed an unlikely match, they were a loving and devoted couple and had instilled in him the importance of being good to a woman. While his parents had never specified that he should be good to one woman at a time, he was pretty certain that was what they’d meant.

 

Things had gotten so bad with Selene that Cedric had even taken to having intimate lunches in his office with his girl. He’d thought that might be the most tactful way of getting across the message that he’d been well and truly taken. His thinking must have been impaired because she hadn’t been so easily dissuaded. This had disturbed Cedric because, although he wasn’t interested in her outside of the office, he’d admired her tremendously. She was first rate at her job and struck the fear of the Gods into those employees who were slackers or put their welfare above that of their partners while in dangerous situations. 

Before Cedric had been lucky enough to have Jacob assigned as his partner, he’d been saddled with Ron Weasley. He was a total joke of an Auror, but because he’d been a ‘hero’ of the War he was given far more leeway than the rest of them. It had taken a near lethal spell that Weasley had failed to protect Cedric from that had gotten the other Auror reassigned. Generally, Selene didn’t show that sort of favoritism, and there had been little doubt in his mind that she’d done what she’d done because of who Cedric was and what she’d hope she’d become to him. After all, it would have been mighty difficult to establish a relationship with someone while the other person was six feet under.

Even though he’d been grateful for her intervention, that gratitude hadn’t stretched so far as to viewing her as anything more than his boss. After that realization had finally sunk in, she’d made her displeasure at work quite evident in various ways. As if it hadn’t been bad enough that she was making his professional life a living hell, she’d found a way to meddle in his private life too. One day, with no warning whatsoever, his girlfriend had been transferred out of the country. 

If Selene had hoped that he’d be more amenable after her competition had been eliminated, she’d be doomed to disappointment. Once again, she’d made her displeasure quite clear. This time in the form of nit-picking each and every report that he and Jacob had handed in, and it had been Cedric on the receiving end of her sharp tongue even though Jacob was the one turning in a masterful mess. 

She’d also taken to reprimanding them severely when assignments didn’t go quite as planned. Cedric was certain that if she could have found a way to separate him and Jacob, she would have utilized it. Luckily for him, being reassigned once was a virtual unheard of event, so having it happen twice would have caused the eyes of her superiors to examine her capabilities as Head of the Department. In essence, she could do nothing without making her self look heartily incompetent. 

He needed a break from all of this, he really did, but applying for vacation time of his own just wasn’t on. Selene would find one reason or other for denying it. Maybe he should just take her out for a drink to appease her, but he quickly shoved that notion aside. He wasn’t going to compromise his personal beliefs on inter office relationships, nor string her along just because she was acting like a spurned harpy. Sighing, Cedric leaned back in his chair stretching until he heard the pop of several vertebrae along his spine. A cup of good strong tea would taste great right about now.

“Hello, Mister Diggory.”

Taken off guard, Cedric brought his chair back on all fours with a thump, his brow furrowing in confusion. Standing in the open doorway – hadn’t he shut it so as to work in complete privacy? It was as good as hanging a sign on the knob saying ‘do not disturb’ – was the sister of his former partner. 

Cedric struggled to keep the impatience out of his voice before greeting the woman. “Good afternoon, Miss Weasley. How can I help you?” If he were lucky, she’d catch on to the fact that he was too busy for a chat.

 

Ginny’s bright smile dimmed a bit. Though beautifully modulated, his tone was less than welcoming. Not to be deterred, she sauntered into the room and, as she did so, her gaze flickered momentarily to the pile of parchments spread out before him. That would explain it, Ginny thought. His less than effusive greeting hadn’t been personal in nature he was just preoccupied. It had never occurred to her for an instant that he just might not be interested. Why would it? Wizards flocked to her like bees to a honey pot. Ginny was used to being the Queen Bee and generally got whatever she wanted, and what she’d been wanting for some time was Cedric Diggory.

Oh great, Cedric thought, as she moved into the room uninvited and wondered how long she was planning on gracing him with her company. He sent a covert glance at the watch strapped around his wrist. It had been a present from the Muggle-born ex-girlfriend who had been shipped out ala Selene. He had no idea when his boss planned on making an appearance, but he knew it wouldn’t be good for him if she found him entertaining a guest when he should have been working like a fiend. He needed to deal with this as quickly as possible.

Ginny slid her fingertips along the smooth wood of his desk, in what she hoped was a provocative gesture, and then she huskily murmured, “I stopped in to visit Ron.” It was a lie, of course. Her only purpose for the trip was the man sitting behind the desk.

“Really?” was his lackluster rejoinder. Cedric couldn’t have cared less who she was here to see, especially if it was that hopeless, hapless brother of hers. A bigger berk he’d never come across. More so now that he’d managed to publicly humiliate Hermione Granger. 

Ginny clenched her teeth in annoyance when what she really wanted to do was snap out a snide comment that would get his complete attention. Ginny’s temper was the stuff of legends, but she’d learned early on that it wasn’t the way to win him over. He preferred the quiet, cerebral type like that cow, Cho Chang. Fiery redheads weren’t generally his thing but Ginny had plans on changing his preferences.

Stuffing down her anger, she replied with mock distress, “Yes, but he’s frightfully busy.” Another lie because when she’d passed his office Ron had his feet up on the desk reading the latest on the Quidditch teams that he was a staunch supporter of. “So much so that he’s unable to take time out for lunch and I’m in desperate need of good cup of tea.” 

Cedric almost snorted out loud at the thought of Ronald Weasley actually doing something constructive with his time. He’d been witness to that lazy, good for nothing git’s idea of what being ‘frightfully busy’ entailed. 

Fluttering her long eyelashes at him, she continued, “I was wondering if you’d care to join me. I do so hate taking tea alone.”

Cedric carefully placed his spectacles down near his abandoned quill while wondering in confused bewilderment if Ginny Weasley was flirting with him?! He took careful inventory. The beckoning, coquettish eyes? Check. The sultry, glossed-covered pouty lips? Check. Check. The daringly low cut robes that exposed an alarming amount of cream-freckled skin. Check, check, and check. She noticed him noticing and leaned ever so slightly forward offering a better view of her cleavage. Yep, Cedric confirmed, definitely flirting. 

To Ginny’s displeasure, he spared her breasts only a fleeting look before reaching for his spectacles and placing them on the tip of his perfect nose. She was of the opinion that they did nothing to detract from his incomparable good looks. In fact, they gave him a dashing bookish quality that was quite appealing. Then, to her further dismay, he picked up his quill while muttering in a carefully off-hand manner, “I, myself, have several days of work to complete, so it’s quite impossible for me to take a break at this point.”

Ginny’s nails dug deeply into the palms of her hands. It was a clear dismissal although it had been politely and expertly done. Most wizards would have jumped on this golden opportunity to indulge in a mutual attraction, so why wasn’t he jumping at the chance to go out with her? If she didn’t know any better she’d think he wasn’t attracted to her which was ridiculous as she was a much sought after witch. She could still turn this around if she handled it just right. 

With a teasing wag of her finger, she answered, “You know what they say: all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Ginny felt her chance slipping away when he replied, “I don’t think so, Miss Weasley. It may make me dull, but it is my job and I take pride in finishing up in a timely manner.”

“I see,” she said pleasantly although she was seething inside. Then she added, “Perhaps we can do it some other time.”

He scratched a few lines on his parchment before saying a crisp, “Perhaps.”

It wasn’t much in the way of encouragement but it wasn’t a total rebuff either. Ginny decided she’d focus more on the former rather than the latter. After all, it wasn’t as if he was throwing her out of his office. He was merely busy and totally focused on what lay before him. 

She took one more lingering look at his down bent head – he really was one of the best looking wizards of her acquaintance – before tossing out a tinkling laugh and saying, “Wonderful, another time then. I’ll owl you.” His only reply was a small sigh and the continued scribbling of his quill.

Ginny exited the room with a deflated feeling at how poorly her orchestrated encounter with Cedric Diggory had gone. Not getting her way was an almost unheard of experience. She’d been pampered and petted for as long as she could remember. It was true that George and Fred had teased her unmercifully as she was growing up, but they’d also treated her as someone special, someone to be admired and cared for. To this day her family still regarded her as something to be cherished, and indulged her endlessly.

Even Harry, for a time, had worshipped and adored her. Ginny grimaced. It hadn’t lasted though and she knew why. Hermione had stepped in and ruined it all. Oh, she hadn’t been aware of it, was totally oblivious in fact. It was Hermione’s inability to see what was right in front of her that had saved her from Ginny’s wrath. 

Ginny was sure that if the three best friends hadn’t gone searching for those blasted Horcruxes that she and Harry might still be together. It hadn’t helped matters that Ron had left the other two all alone for months on end. If Harry was to be believed, Hermione had saved his arse countless times, and much to Ginny’s chagrin he’d all but shouted her praises from the rooftops after they’d returned victorious. Hermione had downplayed her part in the scheme of things but Harry had been insistent in his gushing gratitude.

Ginny had found it all quite nauseating but had done her best not to let it show because Harry would never have stood for it if she’d made any sort of crass comments. In the end it hadn’t made any difference because Harry, although initially claiming Voldemort as the reason for dumping her, hadn’t made any attempt to resume their relationship after Voldemort had been vanquished. Even her mum’s pushing and cajoling had not had the desired effect, and no one could push and cajole like her mum although, over the years, Ginny had certainly been giving her mum a run for her knuts. 

Fortunately, her mum had had much better luck with Hermione and Ron. Not that it had taken too much effort on her part. Ron had begun eyeing Hermione fourth year, and Ginny’d had a sneaky suspicion that Hermione had liked Ron for at least a year before that. 

Things had been taking their natural course when a hitch to her Mum’s machinations came to the forefront in the form of Viktor Krum. Ginny hadn’t been able to figure out why he’d preferred Hermione to any other girl at Hogwarts. Goodness knows she had tried to get Hermione to confide in her. Usually, Ginny was more inclined to want to talk about all the boys she liked and her romantic conquests. But, Merlin’s beard! It had been Viktor Krum! One would think that Hermione would have been chomping at the bit to spill out all the details. No such luck. Hermione had remained determinedly tight-lipped about the relationship. 

The school had been a swirl with rumors, none of which had been flattering to Hermione. Most of the ones circulating had been filled with innuendos as to there having been only one way that someone like Hermione could have snagged such an eligible wizard. Even she had momentarily entertained that notion, but it was quickly squashed when other boys who had offered their services as a replacement, had been unceremoniously and verbally castrated by Hermione’s acid tongue. Harry had not believed it for an instant and had viciously hexed anyone who’d made snide references about his best friend. Ron, on the other hand, had been quite nasty to Hermione for months after Krum’s departure. He’d been jealous, of course, at the thought of his idol getting to Hermione first. Though, in the end, he’d discovered for himself that the rumors had been far from true.

 

They’d been well and truly on their way to the altar when Ron, the dork, had made the unbelievable mistake of bedding the wrong slag. It hadn’t been the first time that he had strayed, but in this instance he’d been incredibly stupid. Generally, his indiscretions had been with witches who knew the score and kept their mouths shut. This time Ron had let his prick overrule his common sense. His incredible stupidity had led to Hermione shacking up with Harry, Remus and Sirius. 

Not that Ginny thought there was anything going on between Hermione and her temporary housemates, but her mum was becoming a complete nutter over the whole thing. Just this morning, Ginny’d caught her frantically pacing the kitchen floorboards while muttering about getting Hermione out of Grimmauld. Ginny’s dad had called it: propinquity panic. The wheels had been well and truly turning in her mum’s head, but before she could put her plan into action, Harry had gone off and changed all the wards around the house. Mum had been furious and, to be perfectly honest, Ginny’d been bitterly angry as well. Somehow, or other, Hermione always seemed to end up right back with Harry. It was downright infuriating!

Ginny gave the button of the lift a savage poke, wishing that it was Ron’s face that was getting the harsh punch instead of the panel of this annoyingly slow lift. Tapping her foot impatiently, she muttered under her breath, “Come on, come on!”

“In a hurry?” A voice asked, but Ginny refused to acknowledge the owner of the comment. Then he said something Ginny couldn’t ignore. “What’s the matter, Weaslette? Worried that you might miss out on the opportunity of ruining a life or two?”

Ginny didn’t bother to turn around, merely bit out in a waspish manner, “Eat shite and die, Malfoy.”

Clicking his tongue, Draco mockingly admonished, “And you kiss your mother with that mouth? Nasty, Weaslette… really nasty.” 

“Whom I kiss with this mouth is absolutely none of your damned business,” she retorted while taking another stab at the button and wishing that the berk behind her would just go away. 

“The way I hear it,” he murmured with snide humor, “that mouth of yours has seen plenty of business.”

Ginny gritted her teeth. “The likes of you will certainly never have the benefit of experiencing it.”

Draco made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and retorted, “I don’t make a habit of indulging in sloppy seconds, and in your case, sloppy to the infinite number.”

Ginny spun around her hazel eyes shooting fire and demanded of the man leaning with laconic ease against the wall, “Are you calling me a slag, because of you are I’d like to remind you of my proficiency with a wand!”

Draco raised an amused brow, enjoying her show of indignation. “I’ll try to contain any alarm that might arise at the thought of your fearsome wand.”

He should have been a quivering mass of fear, yet here he was acting as if she were a novice when it came to painfully debilitating hexes and spells. But even worse than that, he was mocking her! Incensed, Ginny whipped out her wand and pointed it at him exclaiming, “I’m going to blast you into next week, Malfoy!” To Ginny’s further fury, the blasted git yawned widely as if bored out of his mind. 

“Tsk, tsk, Weaslette,” Draco said while astonishing her completely by negligently pushing the tip of her wand to the side with one of his fingers – the absolute gall of the man! “It’s against Ministry regulations to pull or point a wand at someone else while in the building. Will I need to call upon Auror Diggory to rescue me from your terror-inspiring self? Or, as you’ve just come from his office, perhaps it is I who should be worried?”

Tapping his chin in a fake thoughtful manner, he continued, “Would he, I wonder, come dashing to your rescue in true white knight fashion if you let out a maidenly cry?” Sighing deeply, as if saddened, he added, “I think not, Weaslette as you’re hardly the damsel in distress type let alone a maiden.” 

Ginny’s hand clutched convulsively around the inflexible length of wood, it was aching with the urge to let loose with unimaginable spells.

“That aside, Diggory’s tastes lean more toward intelligent, voluptuous witches.” Draco’s disdainful gaze traveled up Ginny’s tall form swiftly passing over her boyishly slender hips and lingering with clear meaning on the small mounds of her chest. “There’s no need for me to elaborate on your lack of physical charms, but I have to give you credit; you do manage to come across as a bit brighter then the majority of brats your broodmare of a mother has managed to pop out with dreary regularity.”

How dare he poke fun at her! Her and her family! This was too much! 

Draco couldn’t recall the last time he’d had this much fun. He was one small step away from pushing this batty bitch over the edge. He’d be doing the Wizarding world a huge favor if he did just that. Perhaps a short stint in Azkaban would widen her small universe where she was considered the sun who everyone in her deluded family revolved around.

 

Draco grinned, “Speaking of your family, I just have to mention the Weasel.” Ginny’s face tightened. “Hit nerve, did I?” 

“Leave my brother out of this, Malfoy,” she ordered angrily.

“Would that I could, Weaslette. Alas, it is difficult to do so when everywhere I turn I am bombarded by images of his massive misstep. The papers do so love to go on and on about such indiscretions.”

“The press has severely over-dramatized the entire incident,” Ginny retaliated, trying to sound blasé so as to prove that the papers had indeed made more of the incident than what really was. “Ron loves Hermione. He always has, and as soon as Hermione realizes how blown out of proportion this whole thing has gotten, she’ll take him back. ”

Draco gave a disbelieving laugh, “You really are delusional, Weaslette do you know that? And I’d bet my last galleon that your daffy mother is holidaying in Delusional Ding-Bat Land right along with you.” Noting her murderous expression, he continued with relish, “She’s probably sitting at that dump you call a home and plotting a way to snare Granger back into the family fold.”

 

“If you say another word about my mum, I really will hex you right where you stand!” Ginny backed up her threat by once more raising her wand. “And I don’t give a rat’s arse if it is against Ministry regulation!”

 

Ignoring her outburst, he crossed his arms before saying, “It’s a toss up as to who’s the more manipulative and disgusting: You, your mother or the Weasel. The fact that the Weasel was off proving his undying love and devotion by shoving it into some sorry loser of a witch puts him out in the lead for sure. On the other hand, the fact that you are less than discerning when it comes to whom you know or whom you blow has you running a real close second. It also makes me exceedingly curious as to how, or who, you have to pay off in order to keep others from impugning your so-called stellar reputation.” 

Ginny paled. Was he implying what she thought he was? Impossible! He couldn’t have found out. He was just baiting her. Malfoy had baiting down to an art form. 

“Shut it, Malfoy!”

Draco was pleased to note that her voice shook as badly as her wand hand. Either she was frightened out of her wits at his disclosure, or enraged beyond her limit. Both options held a great deal of appeal, and he would have exploited both angles more thoroughly had he not, out of the corner of his eye, caught sight of another witch bearing down on them.

 

“What is the meaning of this,” the witch demanded loudly enough to bring several people out into the hallway to see what the commotion was all about. Ginny turned and glared at the woman. “Lower that wand immediately,” the older witch barked out the command. When Ginny didn’t comply, the other woman, declared with a dangerous glint in her eyes, “Do as you are told or I will be forced to bind you and ship you to Azkaban post haste!”

Giving her hair a defiant toss, Ginny reluctantly pocketing her wand.

Once she was sure that Ginny’s wand was where it belonged, the older witch turned her attention on Draco and asked, “Would you care to lodge a complaint, Lord Malfoy?” Ignoring Ginny’s outraged gasp, the witch continued, “You would be well within your rights to do so.”

Sounding very magnanimous, Draco drawled, “I see no need for such measures, Selene. She’s hardly to blame, after all.”

Ginny was shocked and it showed. Was this rat bastard actually going to lay claim to his part in their confrontation?

His next words proved that idea false. “The type of behavior exhibited here has more to do with breeding, or lack thereof in Miss Weasley’s case, and as I’m feeling generous I think we can overlook this ill-advised childish tantrum.” After a slight dramatic pause he added, “ _This_ time.”

Nodding her head, Selene replied, “As you wish, Lord Malfoy.” Then she cast a stern, icy glare on Ginny before saying, “You are a very fortunate young woman.” 

Ginny would have liked to have refuted that claim, but thought the better of it. She might have an unholy temper but she wasn’t stupid, and it was clear that pressing her point was not going benefit her at all. 

“Lord Malfoy could very easily have had you imprisoned. As it is, I will be notifying the guard at the check-in point here at the Ministry of your offense. Until further notice, upon entering the Ministry, your wand will be confiscated. It will be returned to you as you depart the building.” Looking down her straight nose at the younger witch, Selene added uncompromisingly, “Let me be clear. If this sort of undignified and unlawful behavior ever occurs again you will suffer the consequences to the full measure of the law. Is that understood, Madame?”

Without waiting for Ginny’s response, Selene snapped her fingers several times. Two large Aurors that Ginny did not recognize answered the summons.

“Baker, escort this young woman to the main entrance, but take her round the back way.” Ginny stiffened. ‘The back way’ was only used for criminals, and while she might have broken one teeny tiny rule she hardly qualified as a criminal! “Stephens, assist Baker and make sure she causes no further problems.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” they answered simultaneously, before saluting their superior and taking hold of Ginny by either arm. 

Their grip was a notch below painful, but Ginny had a sneaky suspicion that if she were to resist in any fashion that that notch would be breached pretty damned fast. So, she did the only thing she could. She let them nearly drag her down the hall in their haste to eject her from the building. It was her most mortifying experience to date, and Ginny vowed that she’d wreak a hellish revenge on Draco Malfoy for this indignity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't normally write the Malfoy men because I fear I won't be able to do them justice. I hope you think I did an okay job of it.


	4. Rumors and Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Blaise discuss family, co workers, old flames and possible new flames.
> 
> Hermione makes a short stop at the Ministry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to all of you who have kudo'd, left comments, subscribed and follow this fic. I really appreciate it!
> 
> This takes place directly after Ginny was dragged away and any mistakes are all mine as this isn't beta'd.
> 
> I own nothing and make no money.

Draco almost laughed out loud as the Weaslette was unceremoniously dragged from the corridor. As it was, he allowed himself a supremely satisfied smirk the likes of which would have put his father’s to shame. 

“You really are a bastard at times, Draco.” 

“To know me is to love me,” Draco quipped breezily before giving the tall man, who had silently sidled up beside him, a sardonic look. “Don’t tell me you’re going to defend little Miss Trouble Maker?” 

“Hardly,” was Blaise’s swift rejoinder. “Still, baiting her to the point of actually drawing her wand in the Ministry seems a bit excessive to me.”

Narrowing his grey eyes, Draco warned with ominous sincerity, “Don’t waste your pity on the likes of her, nor any Weasley for that matter. They’re far too well equipped to look after their own and often do so in ways that would shock and disturb you, my soft friend.” 

“Soft?” Blaise echoed angrily. “I am no such thing! Zabini’s come from a line of particularly strong, fierce blood!” 

There was no need to inform the other wizard that the Zabini blood line could be traced back to the Borgia’s on his mother’s side. They’d been one of the most feared and contemptible of family’s to grace the history books of all time. Blaise was proud of his heritage, but found boasting to be both vulgar and unnecessary. 

Ignoring Blaise’s reference to his notorious familial connections, Draco drawled, “I’ve seen the way you look at that wretched witch, and take my advice… stay far away from the likes of Ginny Weasley.” Sounding grim, Draco went on, “When the truth wills out, as it surely will, you won’t want to have your name linked with hers in any fashion whatsoever.” 

Clearly curious, Blaise asked, “Care to enlighten me further? A true friend would.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed slowly, sounding thoughtful, “A true friend would.” Shrugging his shoulders, Draco asked, “How is your delightful mother? Staying long, is she?”

Grimacing, Blaise said, “Who knows. She flits about here and there, never staying in one place too long. As soon as I graduated Hogwarts she was off like a shot. Clearly she stayed around only long enough to see me into adulthood.” “

“Being rid of ones mother needn’t be a bad thing. Take it from someone who lives with theirs,” Draco said with a snort. “They can be a right pain in the arse.” 

Blaise laughed, knowing full well that Draco and his mother were as tight as could be. Draco was fiercely protective of the frail woman, but took great pains to hide it from others, considering it a weakness on his part. But Blaise had been witness to their mutual attachment time and time again, being a frequent visitor to Malfoy Manor. 

“At least you don’t have to worry about your father, or any other male your mother expresses an interest in, keeling over from some sudden or mysterious disease or illness.”

Draco chucked dryly. “True. Although I can’t say as I’d blame my mother if she decided to give it a go. My father’s conduct since the War has left much to be desired.” 

Blaise said nothing. In truth, this conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn. He wasn’t sure just how much Draco was aware of his father’s indiscretions, and to his shame, his mother had been involved with Lucius Malfoy on and off for years. It was common for her to take lovers while in between husbands. However, those lovers had to fit stringent criteria, from which his mother never deviated. They had to be pleasingly attractive or they had to be wealthy… very wealthy, and Lucius Malfoy fit nicely into both categories. 

In an attempt to move the conversation away from fathers, Blaise said, “I heard that Pansy has reappeared; she’s back from her two year sojourn in the Orient.” Blaise paused trying to gauge Draco’s reaction to his news. When his expression remained neutral Blaise added, “It seems as if her husband took off with one of the Raja’s concubines, and the Raja was so enraged that for awhile he kept Pansy as a replacement.” 

That got a reaction. 

Draco made a choking sound in the back of his throat, and when his eyes welled up with tears Blaise couldn’t have been more shocked. He reached out to grab Draco when he collapsed against the wall, blond head bent so that Blaise could no longer see his grief- stricken features. Blaise was horrified! He never dreamed he’d get this kind of reaction from his friend on hearing of his ex’s involuntary confinement. 

Draco had never actually come out and confirmed it, but Blaise had harbored a suspicion that when Pansy had dumped him for a man much older and richer that’d he’d been devastated. Yet, other than going ominously quiet upon hearing the news, Draco had given no other outward sign of his distress upon learning of her defection. But, whenever her name had been mentioned at functions, Draco would excuse himself from the group with a slick excuse and charming smile; neither of which were genuine. Blaise wouldn’t have mentioned her name at all, but he was in possession of certain knowledge, knowledge that he was certain would affect Draco greatly and out of their long-standing friendship he felt it prudent to inform him that Pansy would soon be returning to their part of the world. 

Now, Draco was completely doubled over as if in pain, and Blaise was seriously contemplating calling out for help when the other wizard let out a string of raucous guffaws interspersed with heavy gasps. In a flash, it struck Blaise that his friend wasn’t upset at all. Draco was laughing! Laughing! The malicious glee in Draco’s wet eyes when he lifted his head sent a shiver down Blaise’s spine, it was that spiteful. 

“Brilliant,” Draco exclaimed, grinning in exuberant delight while still holding a hand to his aching middle. “Absolutely brilliant! That galleon-grubbing, back-stabbing little whore finally got her comeuppance. Oh, what I would have given to have personally witnessed that pug-faced bitch getting dumped and then being locked away inside a Raja’s harem. Priceless!”

“You really are sick,” Blaise informed him, shocked that his friend would get such pleasure from such an unfortunate event. Shaking his head in bemusement, he added, “I know you can be the biggest arse this side of the Wizarding World, but honestly, Draco you’ve excelled yourself in the arse department.” 

Still grinning widely, and not in the least perturbed by the other man’s comment, Draco said, “Oh come on Blaise, it’s beyond funny and you know it.” 

“Let’s see if you still find it humorous when you run into her at some point in time.”

“What are you talking about,” Draco demanded, all humor vanishing right before Blaise’s eyes. 

With a certain amount of smug satisfaction, Blaise laid it all out for him. “It seems as if Pansy will be coming back here to live… permanently. She might even all ready be in residence. Her family has opened their doors to her, and she has accepted their invitation.”

“Bugger,” Draco muttered, a deep frown marring his forehead. “The Turbaned One must have gotten shot of her as soon as her shrewish personality asserted itself.” Shrugging his shoulders, he tacked on casually, “Can’t say as I blame him, she’s a real nasty piece of work.” 

“What will you do if she approaches you?” Blaise asked, more curious than he was letting on. 

“I think it’s highly doubtful that she will. On the off chance that she’s stupid enough to do so, which –come to think of it – she is, I’ll be coolly cordial as is my duty as a Malfoy. Other than that, she’ll get no encouragement from me. I haven’t the least desire to be friends or anything else her weak little mind might brew up.” 

“Ah, Hermione,” someone called from the other end of the corridor. Both wizards’ heads whipped toward the voice. 

Amos Diggory was greeting the witch in question with a jovial smile and a hearty handshake. She was wearing Muggle clothes, Draco noted, as she so often did when visiting the Ministry. To his mind, it was a blatant slap in the face to the Wizarding World and several people stared at her attire with barely concealed contempt. If she noticed, she didn’t let it show; she never did. She flaunted her Muggle heritage with class and dignity, and Draco couldn’t help but grudgingly admire her for it. 

“Granger looks good,” Blaise ventured to say, eyeing her tight blue jeans and clingy coral blouse. 

Draco agreed with his friend, but didn’t say it; instead he said in a stiff voice, “Anyone would look good after getting rid of the Weasel. That berk would drain every drop of good looks out of even the most attractive witch.” 

Cocking his head to the side, and still watching the witch, Blaise asked, “Do you think Granger’s attractive?” 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Draco gave Hermione a thorough going over before saying, “She’s got a fit form, I’ll give her that.” 

Blaise waited for Draco to continue, but to his disappointment that’s where his friend left it. “True,” Blaise agreed, “she has a nice mouth too.” 

Draco’s brow rose high on his forehead in surprise. Shooting his friend an amused smile, he asked, “Interested?” 

Blaise tossed the idea around in his head for a few minutes, before replying honestly. “I don’t know. I do find her fascinating, and she’s intelligent so I don’t imagine she’d be a bore. She’s bound to be well-versed on a wide variety of subjects.” 

Draco chuckled. “Is that all you’d do with her, talk? That’s quite sad, my friend. Quite sad indeed.” 

“Of course not, you twit. While I do enjoy engaging in lively conversation I also have a pension for equally lively sex. I wonder what Granger would be like in the sack.” 

Draco had wondered too; and often. Not that he’d ever vocalized his curiosity; it was just something that crossed his mind every now and again. It was natural this curiosity of his, he’d told himself over and over. She was an attractive witch, and when one found oneself thinking a witch was attractive, then the next logical course of thought would be in regard to sex. Blokes’ minds just worked that way. It was natural, perfectly natural. 

“Looks as if Diggory likes what he sees.” The Auror in question had come out of his office upon hearing his father, and was at the moment grinning at Granger in a way that Draco found most annoying. 

“Do you think they have something going on?” Blaise asked the question that had just been making the rounds in Draco’s head. 

“I don’t believe so,” the blond man murmured reflectively. “We’d have heard about it by now. The Ministry grapevine is alive and well.” 

“You have a point,” agreed Blaise. “It was all over the place the second after Diggory’s boss made her advances. He turned her down flat, and rumor has it that she was so livid that she had his girl-friend transferred out of the country.” 

Draco wouldn’t have put it past her to have done it. Selene could be relentlessly ruthless when she wanted something, and Diggory had been high up there on her list of wants. 

“Muggle-born, wasn’t she?” At Blaise’s confused look Draco elaborated. “Diggory’s girlfriend; the one who – as rumor has it – got shipped out by the big, bad, vindictive boss.” 

Blaise nodded, and then said, “I guess Diggory’s preferences run toward Muggle-born witches.” 

“Seems so.” 

Draco’s eyes narrowed into silver slits when Diggory bent lower and whispered something into Granger’s ear. At first she looked astonished, and then, she let out a gurgle of laughter that carried the length of the hall. It was nice, and very feminine. Not at all like Pansy’s simpering, shrill twitter. 

Inclining his head in Blaise’s direction, Draco asked, “Have you ever dated a Muggle-born?” 

Sighing, Blaise said, “No, but I could be persuaded to alter that in Granger’s case.” 

Draco, Pure-blooded to the core, and childhood nemesis of the witch who was smiling up into Diggory’s too-good-to-be-true face, silently found himself agreeing.


	5. A Red Head's Temper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny and Molly have a discussion on the finer points of being a lady and how to catch a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing and make no money!

Molly rushed from the house positive that the place was under attack. There could be no other explanation, not with such a ruckus going on. But what, or – heaven forbid – who on earth could be attacking their home? Raucous, brainless trolls? Or, could it be a team of roaming, rogue giants? No, no… that would be ridiculous. Those creatures were situated far from the Burrow. Death Eaters, perhaps? The mere thought sent a shot of unbridled fear straight through her. It was possible. Several of them had either avoided capture all together, or had managed to wiggle out of being prosecuted.

 

Molly reached into her apron pocket and fumbled, passing a serving spoon and ladle before managing to grab her wand as she turned the corner of the house. She was fortunate enough to just miss being hit by a shower of rubble, and as she was lowering the arm that had been protecting her face, she was able to make out a figure in the distance. Another bout of inhuman shrieks proceeded, and then melded in conjunction with another round of colored streams of energy shooting from the wand being held by none other than her daughter.

 

To Molly's dismayed eyes, a tree that had been on their property for over a century went up in torrent of wild flames. Garden gnomes rushed around willy-nilly in fear for their lives. Some even took the unprecedented action of fleeing toward the house. No gnome had ever had the audacity to attempt leaving the confines of the fields or gardens. Not only were both of those places their natural habitat, but they were well aware that they were fair game for Fred and George's antics if they happened to venture too near the Weasley abode.

 

"Ginerva Weasley! You stop that! Right now!"

 

Either Ginny hadn't heard her irate mum, or she chose to ignore her because in the next instance Ginny let out another bellow and screamed out a spell which obliterated the Muggle contraption that her husband had placed outside of his work shed.

 

"Oh, my," Molly breathed in dismay.

 

Arthur was going to be seriously displeased by their youngest child's action. He'd been told from an associate at the Ministry that he was in possession of a rare type of helicopter – whatever that meant – a bit of information that'd had Arthur beaming for days. Molly might have been completely clueless as to its value, but clearly her husband was well aware of the facts.

 

Taking careful aim, Molly pointed her wand at her frenzied, out-of-control daughter and exclaimed in a clear voice, " _Expelliarmus_!"

 

Instantly, Ginny's wand was ripped from her hand, making its way to her mum's outstretched palm. Molly moved with brisk purpose to the side of her red-faced daughter who was breathing harshly, her slight chest heaving at a disturbing rate.

 

"Just what do you think you're doing, young lady?!"

 

Instead of answering her mum's query, Ginny exclaimed heatedly, "I'm going to kill that rotten bastard!"

 

"I'll thank you to not use that type of language," Molly retorted just as heatedly. "Not only is it inappropriate, it's unladylike."

 

Throwing her arms in the air, Ginny yelled, "I don't give a damn if it's appropriate or unladylike! That's exactly what he is! I wish Voldemort had ripped his guts out when he'd had the chance!"

 

Taken aback by Ginny's vicious statement, Molly rebuked her angrily, "Ginny, that's a horrible thing to wish on someone and you will shut your mouth immediately or I will shut it for you!"

 

The shrillness and conviction in the older woman's voice finally breached Ginny's fierce fury.

 

"I'm sorry," she mumbled grudgingly. "But you have no idea what I've been through. That bast… that idiot Draco Malfoy had me thrown out of the Ministry!" Crossing her arms over her chest, she added, "I've never been so embarrassed! Just about the entire floor witnessed it!"

 

"What in the world were you doing at the Ministry," her Mum asked in confusion. "Did you go there to see your father?"

 

"No," Ginny admitted quietly. "I went to see if Ron wanted to have lunch with me."

 

There was no way she was going to tell her mum her real reason for going there. Not only would she have not approved, she would have been very vocal about her disapproval, and Ginny had no intentions of getting stuck listening as her mum ran on and on about it.

 

Molly's brows rose in astonishment. Ginny had wanted to have lunch with her brother? That must have been quite a surprise for Ron.

 

"I find it difficult to believe that your brother would do nothing to help if what you say is true."

 

"I didn't even get the chance to speak to Ron! I'd barely set my foot down on the place before Malfoy came at me with his snide comments! He was so ugly that I was forced to pull my wand on him." Molly gasped while pressing a hand to the middle of her chest in shock. "It wasn't my fault," Ginny insisted, her voice rising in pitch. "Then that witch, Ron's boss, you know, the one that Ron's always griping about," she elaborated.

 

Molly nodded. She did know. Selene Martinello set impossibly high standards for her employees and on several occasions Ron had received negative job reviews due to that fact. The woman just failed to recognize Ron's many positive attributes when it came to being an Auror. Ron claimed that she came down much harder on him than anyone else in the department just because he was a hero of the War, and she had not wanted to get a reputation as someone who showed favoritism.

 

Several months ago Ron had come through the Floo in a right snit. Apparently, Cedric Diggory had requested a transfer of partners, a request that had been granted because of Cedric's 'special' relationship with the woman. Molly had been appalled by the fact that Cedric had been using his influence with the Head of the Department in such a way. She'd always had a soft spot for the boy. He'd been nothing but polite and respectful to her, and such a handsome young man too! She'd been well and truly disappointed in his actions and she now tended to view him with much less affection.

 

"She threatened to have me thrown into Azkaban!" At Molly's outraged gasp, Ginny continued with relish. "I tell you, Mum, that woman went completely mental! She had two Aurors practically drag me out. By way of _the back_ like I was some sort of common criminal and all because of that high falooten dandy of a prancing peacock!"

 

"It's true that Draco Malfoy is in dire need of a good setting down," Molly conceded, "but that's still no reason to wish the likes of Voldemort on him."

 

"Setting down?! He should be rotting in Azkaban with the rest of those low life Death Eaters," Ginny informed her spitefully. "Instead, he's strutting around like he owns the world with his Lord Malfoy this and Lord Malfoy that. It's disgusting how people kowtow to his every whim just because he has a title and more galleons than Croesus."

 

"The rich do tend to flaunt it, Ginny dear. It's their way," Molly explained patiently, "although it's something I don't think I'll ever understand."

 

"Sirius is plenty rich and he has a title too," Ginny shot back, "but you don't see him rubbing it in anyone else's face or lording it over the rest of us."

 

Molly sniffed. She really didn't want to talk about Sirius and his ways. He might not flaunt his wealth or insist on being called by his title, but he did tend to waste his galleons on drink and women. To have her Hermione living in the same house as Sirius went against the very moral ground on which she stood. There was no telling how much damage almost three months in the company of that playboy might have done.

 

It steadied her nerves a bit that Remus and Harry were also there. Both were responsible, reliable, and perfectly sensible when it came to Hermione. Neither harbored any romantic inclinations although she'd had her worries when it came to Harry, but they'd been silly fears as it turned out. There was a part of her that still held onto the dream that eventually Harry and Ginny might reconnect and turn them into the perfect family. She still hadn't given up on Hermione and Ron either. They'd been so close to making Hermione one of them.

 

"Never you mind about Sirius," Molly ordered sternly, determined to get off of the subject. She had a sneaky suspicion that at one point Ginny had a crush on the former criminal which hadn't endeared him to Molly's already hardened heart where he was concerned. "Come along," she said motioning for Ginny to walk before her. "There are things you can help me with in the kitchen."

 

"Muuuum," Ginny groaned, hating the very idea of cooking, cleaning, laundering, and doing dishes. She'd done everything in her power to avoid all that tedious hausfrau crap as she was growing up and, for the most, part she'd succeeded.

 

Placing her hands on her ample hips, Molly declared while casting her eyes over the mess littering the area, "Fine. Stay out here and clean up the yard, and if I were you I'd make a real effort at fixing your father's copter thingy. He's so proud of that darn contraption."

 

Ginny glanced at the smoldering pile of twisted metal with a frown and asked, "Do you think Fred and George will have something in their shop that might help?"

 

Molly let out a laugh before saying, "I doubt it. Their specialty is blowing things up. If you can't get it back together on your own, you'll have to fall back on the role of daddy's girl, and hope that those big brown eyes of yours will soften the blow."

 

"Once I tell him what happened at the Ministry I won't have to. Dad will be fine with it." On seeing her mother's dubious expression, Ginny added, "He will! As soon as he hears what Malfoy did, he'll understand."

 

Clicking her tongue, Molly replied, "Ginny dear, chances are he's already well aware of what happened. It's a safe bet that someone or other wasted no time in going to his office to inform him."

 

Ginny's frown eased a bit. If that were the case then her father would have the rest of the day to deal with the anger and embarrassment of having his only daughter booted from the Ministry in disgrace. Ginny knew that although she was her dad's favorite, he would have a few choice words for her even if she did have a good explanation for her actions.

 

"I'll need my wand if I'm to make a go of cleaning up this lot." Ginny held out her hand.

 

Molly hesitated briefly before passing Ginny the inflexible piece of wood. "I expect you to behave, young lady. No more blowing up the yard while in a temper. Understood?"

 

Rolling her eyes, Ginny answered, "Yes, Mum."

 

Molly hurried back to the house just in time to wave her wand to keep the water and scrubber brush working on the breakfast dishes. They really should have been done by now but she'd had so many other chores to complete. That, added to the considerable time she spent worrying over Hermione and trying to come up with ways to in which to get her back with Ron, well… it all took up a good chunk of her day.

 

Molly eyed the cluttered kitchen table, and then switched her gaze to her chair where six sets of socks awaited the attention of her knitting needles. Sighing tiredly, she pushed a hand through her fading red hair, and decided that what she really needed was a strong cup of tea before going back to her chores.

 

Before settling down with her hot beverage, Molly took a small hand-full of floo powder from the pot on the mantle and threw it into the grate while calling out, "Ministry of Magic, Arthur Weasley's office, please."

 

A moment later the familiar face of Arthur's secretary appeared in the flames.

 

"Good afternoon, Greta," Molly greeted the other witch in a pleasant manner. "I was wondering if my husband might have a few minutes to spare."

 

Smiling, Greta replied, "He's with the Minister at the moment, Mrs. Weasley."

 

"Oh, dear," Molly murmured with a frown, wondering if it were purely a social call on Kingsley's part or if there were a more serious reason for his presence in Arthur's office. She was hoping that it had nothing to do with Ginny's behavior. "I don't suppose you could tell me the nature of the Minister's visit?"

 

Greta's smile turned apologetic before saying, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley but I'm not at liberty to say."

 

Molly was expecting just such a reply. Greta was an excellent secretary and while they got along well, she knew there was a dividing line between the personal and the professional. Although Molly was quite certain that Arthur would fill her on when he returned home in the evening, it was pure torture having to wait until then.

 

"I understand, Greta," Molly assured the other woman. "Please have Arthur floo me if he has the time."

 

Nodding her head, Greta said, "I'll pass along your message, Mrs. Weasley. Have a nice afternoon."

 

"You too," Molly answered back before reluctantly pulling her head from view. "Oh, dear," she muttered again while wiping her nerve-ridden hands down the folds of her apron.

 

Catching her mum's expression as she entered the house, Ginny asked, "What is it, Mum?" Ginny swiveled around to look at the clock, but all the hands were set to places of a non-threatening nature. Heaving a relieved sigh, she continued, "Are you still mad at me?"

 

"It's not that, dear," Molly answered, still looking thoughtful. "Well, not really." Ginny's auburn brows drew close together. Twisting her hands, Molly added, "I just flooed your father…"

 

"Oh, really, Mum," Ginny exclaimed in a huff, clearly put out that she was sticking her nose in further.

 

"Ginerva, don't interrupt," Molly admonished with a shake of her finger. "I didn't have a chance to speak with him because Kingsley was there."

 

Ginny's rebellious expression fell away to be replaced by one of fearful uncertainty. "Oh." Crossing her arms over her chest in a way reminiscent of her mum she asked in a hesitant manner, "What was he doing there?"

 

Ginny wasn't normally one to be cowed, but she had a healthy respect for Kingsley Shacklebolt. His size and presence were intimidating, and when he spoke in that deep baritone of his – whether on purpose or not – it gave the impression of great menace. The man knew how to use that voice to his benefit. Ginny had seen it time and time again while the Order had been in full swing. More than one supporter of Voldemort's had quailed and buckled under his intensive questioning. Not even Snape had instilled such terrifying trepidation in her. Yep, she definitely had a healthy respect for the present Minister of Magic.

 

"I have no idea," Molly answered slowly, and then said, "I'm hoping that it has nothing to do with your antics at the Ministry."

 

"That was not my fault!" Ginny declared petulantly. "I told you, it was that jack-arse, Malfoy."

 

"Oh, Ginny," Molly cried in despair. "You'll never manage to get yourself a husband with that nasty mouth and attitude of yours." Warming to a subject near and dear to her, Molly continued in an enthusiastic and knowledgeable manner. "Wizards prefer a witch with a sunny disposition and moral standards in both word and deed. Exhibiting those types of positive traits makes an eligible wizard think those particular witches would make a fine sort of wife and mother."

 

At this point, Ginny tuned out until her mum's voice was nothing but a dim drone in her ears. Instead, she'd set her focus on the older woman's comment about her 'nasty mouth.' It sent her mind straight back to her run-in with that git, Malfoy and his accusations. If her mum knew what she'd been up to she most definitely wouldn't be standing there preaching what a wizard would or wouldn't like in a potential mate. More likely she'd be beating Ginny with the hard bristles of the scrub brush until she couldn't sit down for a week.

 

The word 'Hermione' brought Ginny back to the here and now with a tremendous thump. Why did everyone – including her mum – have to continually throw Hermione in her face? How many times or ways had she been forced to listen to how wonderful Hermione was? Countless, and she was heartily sick of the whole thing! She'd been better able to deal with it when Hermione'd been on the brink of becoming her sister by marriage. At least that way she would have been tied to Ron and the family for life, and all of Hermione's brilliant attributes would have faded and stagnated into boring, domestic obscurity.

 

Contrary to popular belief, Ginny had never yearned for a sister even though she'd made mention of her longing for a female confidant on the home-front numerous times. She'd felt it was expected of her, and so she went ahead and made those baseless and erroneous claims. If there had been another female born to the Weasley clan, Ginny would have lost her status as special. She hadn't wanted to give up the spotlight of youngest and that of being the only girl, and no way was she going to share or give up the prestigious place of being the apple of her father's eye.

 

"So you see dear, if you'd only follow Hermione's example I'd be planning a wedding in no time at all."

 

Ginny rolled her eyes again, and then snapped back, while being careful not to sound too obnoxious, "Mum, have you conveniently forgotten that I'm not even dating anyone seriously?" _Not that I haven't got my eye on someone_.

 

Picking up the long-enough neglected socks, Molly sank into her chair and began mending them by hand. Her fingers flew; the clickity-clack of the needles rubbing against each other had always managed lulled her into a sense of peace, and today was no exception.

 

"Be that as it may," Molly murmured quietly, "there's no harm in being prepared well before the fact." Tying off a knot in the garish-colored yarn, she added sagely, "You'll see. A fine, young wizard is bound to make you an offer soon. You're far too beautiful to remain single for long, and now that you've finally finished things with that Dean Thomas; they'll be lining up at the door."

 

Biting her lip, Ginny turned away and grabbed a glass off the shelf above the counter top. In truth, she hadn't been the one to end things with Dean. She would have cheerfully strung him along indefinitely. He was perfect cover for all her other less than savory assignations, and sex with him had been a small price to pay for using him as camouflage.

 

Impatiently, she pushed the pot and scrub brush – still air bound and cleaning – out of her way so that she could get to the faucet. She gave the handle a vicious twist and stuck her glass under the stream of water. It had been her bad luck that Dean had discovered her extracurricular activities, and it hadn't been gallantry that had kept him silent either.

 

First, she'd had to threaten him with bodily harm if he spoke out. That had been enough to give him pause because he was quite familiar with her finesse with hexes and spells of an excruciating nature. He'd enjoyed a limited foray into those spells during their bedroom activities and he'd known she'd held back and kept them on a bit more of a sedate level so as not to do any severe or permanent damage.

 

Then, she'd turned on the charm and utilized her undeniable sex appeal. She hadn't been kidding when she'd told Lavender that she knew how to keep a man good and satisfied, and re-seducing Dean into a state of muteness had been child's play. The dunderhead – like most men – could be easily led around by his quivering dick. Allowing him the occasional booty-call wouldn't be any great hardship either. Ginny liked sex… a lot, and she didn't have a prudish bone in her body. She snorted into her glass before taking a sip while thinking that being a prude was far more Hermione's forte.

 

"Have you cleaned up the yard?" her mum asked, moving onto her third pair of socks.

 

"I did the best I could," Ginny called over her shoulder before adding, "I think I'll go into Diagon Alley for a bit. Check out Quality Quidditch Supplies to see if they've got anything new."

 

Molly's brows drew together into a fierce frown, and in a surprised voice she said, "I don't believe they'll have anything new in since you stopped in last week."

 

"You never know," was Ginny's blithe reply. "I was also thinking of popping in to see Fred and George."

 

Ginny was pretty sure saying that would go over well with her mum, and when she stopped giving her the third degree and offered no more protests, Ginny knew she'd won. Giving her mum a swift kiss on the cheek, Ginny made her way out of the house and over to the Apparition point. She took a moment to pull out a small, expensive looking compact and scrutinized her reflection. Her mirror-image smirked back at her knowingly, and licked her lips to give a tantalizing wetness to their rouge enhanced plumpness.

 

Using her wand, she deepened the light kohl surrounding her lashes until she was satisfied with the smoky sultriness the black rings brought to her dark brown eyes. Her final preparation was to mutter a spell which caused the strawberry blonde of her hair to modify itself into a rich, vibrant ruby. The silky straight texture kinked up slightly into loose waves which she knew were quite becoming.

 

"Well, my dear," she whispered to her reflection, "We're off for a high ole time, aren't we?"

 

So saying, Ginny Apparated not into Diagon Alley – as she'd told her mother – but into the dank and musty narrow back streets of Knockturn Alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews and comments are lovely.


	6. Harry's Horrendous Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione have a long over due chat about their feelings.

Walking passed what used to be Regulus' room; Harry's heart sank at the sound of muted weeping coming from behind the closed door. Hermione was still crying, and although he could recall this very scenario being played out night after night for several weeks after she'd first moved in, it had been awhile since she'd shut herself up like this.

 

Harry lifted his hand as if to knock on her door, and then decided against it because he was relatively certain that he wouldn't be welcome. How many times had he knocked on this door over the last few months, and always…always she'd bid him enter. He'd lost count of how often he'd comforted her, holding her close as she cried herself into exhaustion at Ron's betrayal of her trust and her love. He'd ached to his very bones for her and the devastating loss of her once long-held, cherished dreams.

 

Hermione wasn't one to grieve in public, so whenever Remus and Sirius had been about, she'd plaster on a glittering, gay smile and chatter away as if her whole world hadn't been crashing down around her ears. Harry thought he might have been the only one in Grimmauld to have realized that the brightness shining in her eyes had been the very tears she's wait to shed until safely in the privacy of her own room like she was now.

 

Fortunately, little Teddy seemed to have a way of lifting her spirits immensely, and Harry had been ever so grateful that he'd taken an instant liking the only female occupant of the household. Teddy had already been quite familiar with Hermione before she'd come to Grimmauld to live, but living together in the same space had brought about a whole new dimension to their closeness.

 

So, it was a good thing that Harry didn't have a jealous nature – for the most part – because his godson had taken to following Hermione wherever she went quite leaving him in the dust! If Hermione was hankering after a cup of coffee, Teddy cheerfully scampered after her as she went to the kitchen to make herself the bitter brew. The same logic followed if she decided to head to the Black library. Young Teddy would take it upon himself to escort her there and was content to sit quietly by her side reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard while she did her research or chose to relax with a book of her own.

 

Many times, the little Metamorphmagus would insist that Hermione be the one to tell him a bedtime story. So much so, that it just made sense that she and Remus strike up a routine of tucking-in the child together every night. After a multitude of hugs, kisses and the tucking in of covers had been exchanged Teddy would, much to Remus' amusement, imperiously order his father away telling him that, 'It was quiet time for him and Mione; no grown-ups allowed.'

 

Harry had often come upon Remus standing just outside Teddy's ajar bedroom door listening to Hermione tell her tales. He would watch the two interact: woman and child, with a wistful yearning on his care-worn face. It was truly heart-wrenching, and Harry guessed that his former professor had been thinking about what might have been had Tonks survived the War.

 

A few times Harry had stayed too, and had been impressed by all the detailed descriptions of the thrilling adventures that she'd managed to conjure up from out of nowhere. He'd had no idea that Hermione possessed such a spectacularly inventive imagination. In hindsight, Harry came to realize how stupid he'd been to have been so surprised by her ability to tell a wild tale. Hermione Granger might be one of the greatest brainiacs of his acquaintance, but she wasn't a lazy arm-chair intellectual. She was sharp as a tack and her thought processes moved swiftly and seamlessly from mere thought to actual action in a millisecond. So, it really shouldn't have been surprising in the least that she'd been able to whip out a thrilling yarn with no preparation whatsoever time and time again.

 

Desolately, Harry stared with fixed intensity at her bedroom door all the while wishing he'd find the balls to actually go ahead and knock just as he'd done all those other times when Hermione had needed him so desperately. But, this time was different from all those others. He doubted very much that she would welcome him as she'd previously done because – this time – the blame couldn't be laid solely at Ron's feet. No; not this time. To his shame, Hermione's present distress could be laid squarely and firmly at the base of his own size tens.

 

________________________________________

 

Two hours ago

 

"Hey, 'Mione, where've you been?" Harry asked, noticing how the heightened color on her face brought a brilliant, reflective shine to her eyes.

 

"Hey, Harry," she replied in kind before adding with a small smile, "I met up with an old friend and then I stopped off at the Ministry afterward to pick up a few things to bring back to work on." Waving a thick manila file, she added ruefully, "I've really got to get my rear in gear on this or those arses at the Ministry won't take my recommendations on over-turning or amending some of those asinine laws seriously."

 

Harry shook his head in wonder. Her unflagging dedication in gaining rights for those tagged as unworthy by most witches and wizards never ceased to astonish him. With an affectionate grin, Harry kiddingly remarked, "Norma Rae to the rescue. Injustice doesn't stand a bloody chance in hell with you around."

 

Hermione let out a derisive snort, before saying, "If only! It's infuriating, Harry, the way the committee completely disregard or brush aside whatever evidence or conclusions I present to them. They're just humoring me, and not being very nice about it either. Meanwhile, they're hoping that I'll get so frustrated with their stall tactics that I'll give up and leave them in peace."

 

Chuckling, Harry said, "They sure don't know you very well, do they?"

 

A steel-like determination entered Hermione's normally warm eyes, and then she bit out fiercely, "They sure don't, those miserable miscreants!"

 

"Atta girl, Hermione," Harry praised. "Give 'em hell. They deserve it, those narrow-minded nincompoops."

 

Hermione let out a heart felt sigh. "Yeah, I know but it gets bothersome after awhile, Harry. I get so tired, and to be honest, there are times when I really do wonder if it's all worth it."

 

Looking slightly embarrassed, she admitted in a small voice, "I'm going to tell you straight out, Harry… my job has been very time-consuming and might have played a part in some of my problems with Ron." Harry frowned, and Hermione quickly interjected, "Merlin knows I've never given him sufficient cause to go out and do something like cheat on me." Shame-faced, Hermione ended her confession by saying, "But, I did make a habit of banning Ron to the couch."

 

Harry's troubled face shot up with color, but she ignored her friend's obvious discomfort not realizing that it had nothing to do with being embarrassed; rather it was because Ron had already confided in him on this very subject.

 

"I told him it was because he snored and that I really needed my rest." Hermione cleared her throat and then continued on. "At first, that was the only reason I didn't want him sleeping with me. Then, it got so that every time I didn't have to stay up late to work, or when I was finally able to get to bed early for a change, he'd want sex. All the time, Harry! I was just too worn out to begin with, and then to be expected to perform any spare moment I had; I couldn't do it," she cried, "I just couldn't!"

 

Running a hand over the back of his sweating neck, Harry remarked awkwardly, "Well, uh… if you're tired, you're tired. Not too much you can do about that. Ron should've understood."

 

"That's what I thought too," Hermione answered quietly. "He all but told me straight to my face that I drove him to it, that I caused him to cheat." Lips trembling, Hermione added anxiously, "I keep running it over in my head, and logically I know it wasn't my fault. Still, there's this traitorous part of me, a part that logic can't define or reason with which persists in holding me responsible."

 

Harry's dark brows knit into a troubled frown. How could Hermione doubt herself in this instance? It was inconceivable, and he wasn't going to allow her to torture herself needlessly when the true person to blame was in all likelihood, at this very minute, doing the very thing that got him into trouble in the first place.

 

Taking her firmly by the shoulders, Harry gazed intently into her worried eyes and said, "Mione, for as far back as I can remember you've taken on the responsibility of not only yourself, but me and Ron too. You've protected us, guided us, badgered and cajoled until it became second nature for you to just go ahead and do the things we ought to have been doing for ourselves."

 

"Harry"…

 

"No," he sternly rebuked, "let me say this, okay?" "Okay," she whispered back, stunned by his uncommonly serious demeanor.

 

With a sardonic twist of his mouth, Harry continued, "Your generosity and good intentions whether it be in correcting our homework on a nightly basis so we wouldn't fail out, to using a spell to make sure Ron made the school Quidditch team even though, technically speaking, it was a form of cheating and Hermione Granger – as anyone can tell you – can't abide a cheat; were but two very small ways in which you took care of us. Sadly, it was usually far from appreciated and, at the time, I was as guilty of a severe lack of appreciation as Ron. I just want you to know that I'm sorry for all those times I acted like a total git when I should have been kissing your pretty little toes in gratitude."

 

Hermione was so moved by her wonderful friend's declaration that she felt a rush of hot tears prickle and burn in the back of her eyes. As she fought valiantly to keep them at bay, she grabbed Harry in a bone-crushing hug and just managed to choke out an, "Oh, Harry…"

 

Grinning into her sweet-smelling mass of curls, Harry returned her hug before laughingly interrupting her once more. "Hold on there… I'm not done."

 

Hermione let out a tearful giggle and murmured a less than coherent apology into his neck before nestling deeper into his embrace. Harry moved his hands over her slender back in a slow, soothing pattern and continued.

 

"I like to think that I haven't been that sort of a knuckleheaded git in ages. I also hope that I've grown beyond such churlish childishness, but I've got to be honest here, Mione. I've got to be honest to myself and say that Ron hasn't changed. Not one iota. Like you, I've covered for him for years and because of it he's remained an immature, selfishly spoiled, idiotic berk who puts himself first. I'm not going to carry him anymore, and neither are you. He's to blame for this whole sorry mess. Him and him alone, understand?"

 

Pulling back slightly, Hermione graced him with a shaky smile brimming with warmth and gratitude then stepped up onto her toes and pressed a swift kiss near the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, Harry you've really given me a new perspective on the issue." Grabbing him by the hand, she clasped it tightly and said, "And thanks for taking my side."

 

The words 'this time' swirled silently about them putting a damper on the intimate atmosphere with their unwanted presence. Harry, not wishing to lose this companionable moment, ignored the unspoken implication by asking, "Did you have a good time with your friend today? You mentioned meeting up with someone before going to the Ministry."

 

"I had a very lovely time," she answered quickly, sitting in the wing-backed chair she so often favored when she spent time in this particular room.

 

Gone were the dreary, dark draperies and drab broken down furniture. The moth eaten rugs had been replaced by the finest carpets the Orient had to offer; Sirius had spared no expense. The ripped and stained wallpaper had also been removed and in its stead was a coat of paint of a warm and inviting color. The ghastly shadows had been chased away and the room was now referred, by them all, as the family room.

 

"That's nice," Harry remarked, as he sank into the plush cushions of the red and gold striped couch. "Who were you with and what did you do?"

 

A brief internal struggle broke out inside of her until she reminded herself that Harry was her best friend and that she could tell him anything. "Viktor invited me for coffee."

 

Hermione ventured a look at him and found him sitting stiff as a board, his face set in an unreadable expression. Finally he answered with a simple, "Oh."

 

"I know you never really cared much for him, Harry," she rushed on, "but he's really a very sweet man and if you let yourself I think you could grow to be fine friends." At his doubtful expression, she added with hopeful gleam in her eyes, "I'd really like that. It would really please me if two of my favorite wizards would eventually strike up a fast friendship."

 

Harry didn't want to disappoint her, so he conceded with a shrug, "Maybe." Then, realizing how unconvincing he sounded, he added with more enthusiasm, "I guess anything's possible."

 

Hermione knew it had taken a lot for him to give her that half-hearted possibility. While Viktor hadn't been an enemy of Harry's, so to speak, he had been a rival of sorts at the Tri-Wizard Tournament. There was also the fact that out of stalwart friendship to Ron any attempts Viktor had made on getting to know and befriend the younger man had been ignored. His snubbing of Viktor had been one of the only bones of contention between them. Sadly, very few people of importance in Hermione's life had had the chance to see beyond Viktor's imposing façade to the very wonderful and considerate wizard beneath.

 

"Are you going to see him again?" Harry asked with a casualness he was far from feeling.

 

Carefully watching his face from the corner of her eye, she answered his question. "I'd like to. He did say he'd owl me." Noting his frown, Hermione turned to face him fully once more and said, "Harry, this might be more than a fly-by visit for Viktor." Staring into his unreadable eyes, she continued softly, "He's just a friend, Harry; just like you're my friend."

 

Harry's eyes widened and a flash of something indefinable flicked in their depths, and when he turned on her, she couldn't have been more surprised.

 

"That's a lie, Hermione, and you know it!" Harry jumped to his feet and began pacing in an agitated manner while running his hand through his already messy mop of dark hair. "He was never a friend like I was. If he had been, you never would have let him touch you or… or kiss you… or any of the things that you never let _me_ do. So, don't you dare say he's just a friend like me."

 

Hermione blinked, completely taken off-guard by his angry outburst. Why was he behaving like this? What on earth was he saying? For a moment, Hermione felt as if she stepped into an alternate reality, that's how unreal all this seemed to her.

 

"Harry," she began tentatively, "what are you saying? You sound…" Dare she say it? "…jealous."

 

Her uncertain suggestion stopped him in his tracks. He pinned her to her seat with a boiling green glare, and stated sharply, "I am jealous, Hermione. Horribly so. It makes me sick how jealous I am, how I've always been when it comes to you!"

 

Hermione was stunned anew. While they'd always been close she'd never thought him particularly proprietary where she was concerned, not like Ron had been. Ron had made it clear that he'd thought of Hermione as his and jealously guarded her from certain people. Stupid idiot that she'd been, she'd been flattered by his possessive attitude. At the time, she'd confused what she'd thought had been desperate love on his part when in actuality it had been nothing but the markings of a juvenile boy not wanting to share his 'toys' with anyone else.

 

"When we were out and about looking for those blasted Horcruxes, and you chose me over Ron I was so damned thrilled. Finally, I thought maybe you were seeing me the same way I'd been seeing you. But, you weren't! You stayed with me out of a sense of duty," he accused her; sounding so hurt that it struck a chord to the depths of her very soul. "In your heart, you chose Ron… again!"

 

Hermione was not going to let that statement pass without one of her own.

 

"That's hardly fair of you, Harry and you know it! If we have to go there, then fine, lets! You chose Ron over me almost every damn time; over and over again!"

 

"I had to," Harry exclaimed, his beautiful green eyes pleading for her understanding. "If I hadn't, he would have guessed how I felt and I couldn't have that because he's my friend and friends don't do that sort of thing to each other." But, Hermione was not going to be swayed by their beauty, nor by their plaintive plea.

 

"So, what are you saying," she snapped back, springing to her feet. "Are you saying that all those times you refused to speak to me, when you treated me like rubbish hadn't been about me accidentally breaking your wand at all? That you'd been trying to hide feelings for me? Is that how you're going to justify your ingratitude at that time," she demanded, her eyes spitting brown fire.

 

Gesturing wildly, Harry shot back, "Do you think I don't know what a total arse I'd been? But, what was I supposed to do? Do you know how frustrating it was to not be able to express my feelings? Or, how infuriating it was that night after agonizing night you'd cry over Ron?"

 

Harry's voice broke as he spoke his next words. "You turned your back to me, shutting me out when all I really wanted to do was crawl into that bed with you." At her astounded expression, Harry rushed in and said, "I wouldn't have been stupid enough to try anything. I only wanted to hold you close and offer comfort, but it seemed pointless to try." Looking away, Harry muttered with a pout, "Why bother when you couldn't seem to stop sobbing into your pillow?"

 

"Of course I cried," Hermione shouted, incensed. "I was tired, hungry and scared, and when Ron left it just got worse. You got worse! We'd all been together since first year and it was all falling apart… we were falling apart!" Crossing her arms over her heaving chest, she pointed out with a glare, "Besides, while I was crying over the disintegration of our friendship, you were pining over Ginny's dot on that stupid map of yours."

 

"Yes, I was looking for Ginny on the map," Harry exclaimed in exasperation. "But, I was also looking for Neville, and Luna and Ron. I pretty much searched for anyone who was important to me – to us – and our cause."

 

Tapping her foot in agitation, Hermione asked with a bitter twist to her mouth, "You're not going to stand there and deny that you and Ginny were in a relationship before we left, are you? Because let me tell you, she made it quite plain to me that you were, and in excruciating detail. She rambled on and on, bombarding me with all her of her silly hopes and dreams for a future with you. If that weren't annoying enough, she regaled me, until I felt nauseous, on your amazing ability to make her swoon with your kissing."

 

"I'll not deny that we kissed a few times," Harry grumbled. At her raised eyebrow, he continued grudgingly, "All right, we did a bit more than that, and I'm not proud of how badly I used her. It's just that you were off limits and with Ginny I didn't feel so alone."

 

"You're not the only one who felt alone, Harry. This might come as a shock to you, but I've always felt a bit like that whenever the three us of were together. Never more so than when we were off trying to save the Wizarding World. Being the only female of this little crew was hard to bear at times," she informed him ruefully. "Sometimes it still is, but when Ron left I figured things would get easier. You two were constantly at each others throats and, as awful as it sounds, it was a huge relief when Ron did a runner."

 

Harry snorted. "Sure it was, Hermione," he groused sarcastically. "It was such a relief that you curled up into a ball misery as soon as the sun set."

 

Placing her hands on her hips, Hermione ignored the jibe and calmly explained her reasoning.

 

"I was crushing on Ron in a big way, so okay yeah, I was miserable at night because I had more of an opportunity to be miserable. During the day you and I were kept far too occupied with surviving and ferreting out those Horcruxes. Our minds weren't capable of lingering on our personal woes." Sighing tiredly, Hermione continued, "My feelings for Ron didn't make me blind to the fact that we seemed to function much better without him; you and I were a good team."

 

Harry allowed a small smile to slip through his cynical visage. "Yeah," he agreed softly, his eyes now reflecting reminiscent warmth for past events. "We sure were, and it drove Ron mental."

 

Hermione giggled, "I know, and he took every opportunity to throw a spanner in the works of any doings we might have come up with if he hadn't had a hand in it too. He was a major head-case when it came to that sort of thing."

 

"He was jealous," Harry abruptly announced, his face turning stern once more. "A feeling I've had more than a passing acquaintance with." Then, changing topics completely, he asked, "Will you take him back, Hermione?"

 

"Harry," she began, sounding exceedingly weary, "can't we just let it rest for now?"

 

Harry knew he should do just that; she looked absolutely knackered. But, in his need to know, he pushed on relentlessly, "Are you, Mione? I want to know if after all he's done and how horribly he's hurt you if you plan on taking him back. Are you?"

 

Lowering her gaze, she whispered, "I don't know. It's complicated."

 

Harry's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "You don't know," he repeated incredulously. "It's _complicated_?" Harry could not believe what he was hearing. Then, he did something that he swore he would never do, and it was the breaking of this self-proclaimed oath that would haunt him until the end of his days. "Do you honestly think that this is the first time Ron's screwed another witch behind your back?"

 

"What," Hermione gasped, her eyes widening in wounded shock. Shaking her head in stunned disbelief, she cried out brokenly, "No… he'd never… it's… no!"

 

"Oh, God." Harry rushed to the shaken woman and grabbed her painfully by the upper arms. Then, in a futile attempt at salvaging the situation he said, "I didn't mean it, Mione! Jesus… I'm so sorry! What was I thinking?"

 

"It's true though, isn't it," a distraught Hermione asked, even though the truth of the matter was written clearly on Harry's devastated face. "Oh, God," she moaned in immeasurable anguish.

 

Harry caught her as her legs buckled and she crumpled lifelessly against him. This state of lethargy lasted only seconds before she pushed violently against him and shrieked, "Don't touch me!"

 

"Hermione, please…" he pleaded, alarmed by the mad grief blazing from her eyes. "Let me…"

 

"Shut up!"

 

And, Harry did just that, because right this second, Hermione Granger was beyond his reach, beyond the reach of sane rationality or earnest entreaty. This woman, who he loved above all others, was undeniably and firmly entrenched in a darkness of the most heinous kind, and it was his fault; completely and utterly. Harry did nothing to stop her when she fled up the stairs as if the hounds of hell were viciously snapping at her heels.

 

________________________________________

 

The Present

 

"Dammit! Dammit to hell," Harry raged to himself, while still staring longingly at the wooden obstacle separating him from her. He'd fucked up royally, and he wasn't certain if Hermione would ever be able to forgive him. "Shit," he exclaimed in a savage whisper, not wanting to alert Hermione to his presence just yet. What if she couldn't find it in her heart to forgive him? Yeah, Harry-bleeding-knuckleheaded-git-Potter; what then? Harry slumped against the wall following its line until his backside hit the floor. And, before he knew what was happening, he was following Hermione's example and weeping as if his world would never be right again.


	7. The Consequences of Liquor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione goes out to a bar/dance club to drink away her woes and runs into someone she never expected to see in the Muggle World.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not beta'd so please forgive any mistakes.
> 
> I own nothing and make no money.

* * *

 

 

**Chapter 7**

 

Hermione tapped her foot in sync to the pounding blare of music all around her. The myriad of flashing lights in conjunction with the tremendous noise was sure to go a long way to keeping her brain from functioning in high gear. Itwas a state of affairsthatshereallyneededbecauselately her thoughtshadbecomenothingbut a viciousenemy. What she _needed_ to  do was stop that enemy firmly in its tracks for awhile.  
  
So what was she doing? She was spending the evening in – of all places – a dance club. It was an action on her part that went so far against the grain of her standard routine that it was laughable. Not that she felt much like laughing. Harry's disclosure on Ron's continuous cheating ways had been far from a laughing matter. Choking back a sob, she lifted her cocktail and flung it down her throat in one swallow.  
  
One indiscretion she _might_ have been able to get through and eventually forgive. More than one? No way. Absolutely impossible! She would never be able to put her trust in him again! Ron was nothing more than a lying dirtball of a louse! She motioned for the bartender.  
  
The man, barely twenty at the most, came immediately in response to her summons and asked above the roar of the music, "Another one?"  
  
Well, _duh_ , Hermione thought, less than impressed with this guy's ability to figure out the obvious. She didn’t let it show. Instead, she flashed him a brilliant smile. That smile had him catching his breath, and re-assessing his earlier assumption that she wasn’t as bed-worthy as the raven-haired beauty who’d been giving him the come-on all night.  
  
When Hermione crooked her finger, beckoning him closer, the bartender did an internal victory dance as he zeroed in on the fact that her ring finger was bare. It was a rarity for him to leave the club alone, and it looked as if tonight would be no exception. Shewasfar from being his typicaltype of woman to pick-up. For starters, this one had oodles of class.  
  
She also wasn’t wearing anything truly eye-catching or revealing, but he could tell that she had a ripper bod underneath the modest cut of the fabric. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous either, but when she smiled – as she was now – there was a serious sexiness to her that sent a wake-up call straight to his groin. Eager to get to know her better, he gave her his best: You're the-lucky-lady-I've-set-my-sights-on grin, and waited to hear what she had to say.  
  
"Make that two more drinks," she informed him loudly while holding up two fingers to make sure he understood. Not that he could blame her for using sign language because the music in here was deafening. The walls were practically reverberating. "And," the lovely creature who he fervently hoped would be heating the sheets with him later continued, "Could you ask the DJ to turn up the music, please?"  
  
He just had to have heard her wrong, he had to have. Focusing on her mouth, which he noted, was fabulous even without the benefit of gloss or lipstick, he shouted, "Did you just ask me to have the DJ turn _up_ the music?"  
  
Hermione wasreallybeginning to wonderifthisguywerestupidor something. It made her question whether he should be in charge of something as important as mixing her drinks. Glancing down at theglass in her hand, Hermione thoughtthathereally couldn't be toomuch of a duncebecause her last three drinkshadbeen to diefor. Deciding to give his intellect a second chance, Hermione nodded and yelled back, "Yes."  
  
She _really_ neededthevolume to be cranked up because, sofar, ithadn't donemuch to drown out themass of thoughts spiraling around in her head. Thewholepoint – as she'd previouslydecreed to herself – wasthe obliteration of thatparticularenemy. For tonight, her weapon of choice was hell of a lot of booze coupled with what passed for music in this place. She figured that if she could still gawk over the fact that Harry had declared his own past feelings for her, then clearly she hadn’t had enough of either. What would Harry's reaction have been if she’d had the chance to tell him that she’d had similar feelings for him?

Smiling slightly, she recalled the exact moment she’d begun to feel something akin to more of a romantic feeling for him. It had been the moment he held out his hand to her in silent invitation to dance.The gesture had been completely unexpected on Harry's part. She knew from her experience at the Yule Ball that Harry would rather suffer through a series of torturous Bat-Boogey hexes then to bust his moves. Yet, there he was, holding out his hand and giving her a sweet, tentative smile that hadn't quite driven the shadows from his haunted eyes.  Ron – already a massive git in her eyes – had immediately been relegated to not worth a second thought!  
  
They had circled the tent with an awkward grace, yet in their awkward awfulness they somehow managed a surprising amount of synchronistic harmony. Hermione'd led because Harry was pants at leading. After using up all of her knowledge of dance steps, they simply twirled one another around in circles. They'd giggled and laughed at their silliness and monstrous ineptitude.    
  
When that song had slid into another – a slower one this time – Harry had blushed when he pulled her closer. As their bodies blended together, Hermione had let out a deep sigh; it had felt that good. It had brought home the realization she'd been starved for simple human contact for far too long. He must have felt the same because he buried his face in her hair and she felt him slump into their embrace.  
  
Momentarily, she worried that while this close she might not smell the greatest. The tent seemed to have come equipped with everything except running water. They had to rely on streams, ponds, lakes and even the occasional puddle that she used a heating charm on to melt the ice so they could use it as a way of washing up. Ithadbeenkind of gross, butithadmanaged to getthejobdoneandhadbeenfarbetter than nothing at all. Those worrisome thoughts beat a hasty retreat when Harry snuggled even closer and turned their light hug into a bone-crushing grip.  
  
The semi-idiotic bartender returned and placed Hermione's drinks down on the bar, brushing her hand lightly in the process. Instead of walking off to attend to the other patrons, he lingered. It suddenly struck Hermione that he was waiting for her to pay. Reaching in her bag she rifled through the contents in search of her change purse, but her fingers couldn't seem to connect with anything. She pulled out her hand and gave it a confused look before giving her fingers an experimental wiggle. Well, that was a relief! They still worked, but were a bit on the numb side. Rubbing the tips together didn’t help, so instead of fumbling around for cash, Hermione informed him loudly, "Put it on my tab, please."  
  
His smile wavered, and then he said, "Sure," before moving off to take care of a dark-haired, exotic looking woman glaring at her from the end of the bar.  
  
Hermione glared right back. She supposed her own irrational enmity stemmed from the woman's slight resemblance to the slag who'd been plastered all over the papers with Ron. It wasn’t her, of course. Hermione was not in the mood to differentiate between slags, and took a moment to send the other woman a gesture that would have made Molly cringe and surprised the britches off of anyone who knew her well.

Satisfied that her crude message of retaliation hadbeenreceived and understood; Hermione returned her attention to way more important things… like her drinks. Lifting the colorful concoction to her lips, she made the wise decision of sipping instead of gulping this time.  
  
What had she been doing? Oh, yeah… that’s right, thinking about Harry. After their impromptu dance, things had pretty much gone back to the way they had been. Harry had still obsessed over that map and their roaming dots while she – as Harry had accurately relayed to her – had gone back to crying into her pillow every time the sun had set.  
  
He'd been horribly wrong on one point though; her tears hadn't been on account of Ron. Initially they had been, but not after their dance. She'd been hurt, not only by his growing impatience with her and their inability to find the Horcruxes, but also because she'd been so certain he'd gone back to pining for Ginny. The younger girl was beautiful, athletic, vivacious, and wildly popular. How could she ever have hoped to compete with the wonder that was Ginerva Weasley?

 

* * *

  
  
Watching Hermione from a small dark alcove just off to the side of the dance floor was a very interested party. While his black clothing easily blended in with the shadows, he wasn’t someone easily missed. There wasthefactthathewas a regular at thisspecificclub, andquitepopular with theladies. Not that he came to this place every Friday or Saturday; he did have a more varied social life than that. Another one of the reasons he came here was that the atmosphere was to his liking, and he had the guarantee of complete anonymity. This wasn't the case in the Wizarding World.  
  
The bartender had clearly been trying to exert his charms on the curly-haired witch. He smirked when the other man's face fell into a state of disappointment. It appeared as if the poor guy had gotten shot down. He didn’t waste much time nurturing his disappointment. In the next second, he moved down the length of the curved bar and engaged a scantily clad woman in earnest conversation. Keeping his eyes trained on the couple, he noted how their body language spoke volumes. Itwasclearthatthistimethemanwasdefinitelygoing to getlucky.  
  
Transferring his gaze back to the original target his brows drew together in an annoyed frown. While he'd been occupied with the soon-to-be copulating couple, another bloke had sidled up to the witch. This idiot had clearly consumed far too much alcohol because he was swaying where he stood next to her stool. His eyes narrowed dangerously when the jack-arse had the audacity to place his hand on her shoulder.  
  
His frown cleared into a smile – which had several female patrons eyeing him up – when the diminutive witch elbowed the inebriated jerk sharply in the gut. The man staggered back, looking stunned and affronted by her actions. _That_ was the Hermione Granger he waswellacquainted with, and smiled while ruefully remembering the impeccably aimed and painfully delivered bop to the nose he’d endured during Third Year.  
  
Looking back on the situation through adult and less Blood-prejudiced eyes, Draco could admit he deserved it. He'd been a berkish moron and never should have baited them with his cruelty. Still, he'd been taught by the finest and some of those teachings – though tempered – still remained a part of his character. He was a Malfoy after all; there was no denying this dubious parentage.

  
Cocking his head to the side, Draco watched with curious eyes as the oblivious-to-his-safety imbecile tried once more to capture Granger's attention. He couldn't hear the words she was spewing from that pretty, full mouth, but it must have been highly virulent. Granger's unwanted suitor frowned and then noticeably blanched before slinking away with shoulders slumped. Draco would havebeenimpressed by this display had he not been more than aware of just how sharp that tongue of hers could be.  
  
"Been waiting long, sugar?"  
  
Draco recognized the owner of the feminine voice behind the question immediately and fought down a frown of annoyance. Even though she was here by his express invitation, it hadn’t been with the intention of dating the woman or in an attempt to woo her into his bed. He’d been there and done that. His intention was to get rid of her once and for all.  
  
She was becoming a nuisance. The fact that he hadn't made an effort to return her calls should have been a clear sign. He learned pretty quickly that the best way to keep in touch with the women outside of his homeland was by way of Muggle mobile. He'd purchased the strange device not long after he started escaping here and, until now, had never regretted it.  
  
Turning to her with great reluctance, Draco drawled slowly, careful not to put too much enthusiasm into his voice, "Good evening, Constance."  
  
Ironically, her name suited her to perfection because she’d become a _constant_ source of irritation and _constantly_ sought to chase any woman away who endeavored to approach him. Draco wasn’t going to stand for her antics any longer. He enjoyed his sexual forays with the various women of his choice, and she was seriously putting a kink into those forays.  
  
With an elegant wave of his hand, Draco suggested, "Shall we sit?"  
  
With a wide, glaringly white smile, Constance simpered, "That would be lovely, Drake."  
  
Draco hated having to use such a distasteful version of his name. However, it hadn’t taken him long to discover that, in the Muggle World, his own often stuck in the minds of those who found it quite odd. This, in turn, led to a slew of awkward questions. An alias had been necessary, and it served him well.  
  
Motioning, for the preening woman to precede him, Draco waspleased to find that his usual table at the back of the alcove had a reserved sign posted on top of it. Money did indeed carry perks in the Muggle World. It had astonished him that, in certain ways, it was just like his own.  
  
The blonde wizard didn’t politely pull out Constance's chair or help her to be seated. He wasn’t here to make a good impression. His purpose was to get rid of this burdensome bitch with her vast array of firmly entrenched tentacles. She could have, quite honestly, given the Hogwarts Giant Squid a run for his galleons.  
  
Undeterred by his bad manners, Constance cooed, "This is nice." Leaning forward, she gushed, "I _love_ this place." Then she added with a coy flutter of heavily mascara-ed eyelashes, "It's even more special because we met each other here. It was like fate or something."  
  
With a chilly smile, Draco slid in seamlessly, "I have discovered that Fate can be a cruel lady."  
  
Before he had a chance to further elaborate, a waiter approached, saying very respectfully, "Good evening, Sir and, welcome back." Looking briefly at Draco's companion, he added, "Ma'am."  
  
This imagined slight did not sit well with Constance. Sniping nastily, she asked, " _Ma'am_?  Really?! I think you need to get glasses or something because the word _ma'am_ is  for little old ladies who live with twelve cats and knit gloves and scarves."  
  
The waiter made an attempt to rectify the situation by saying sincerely, "I'm sorr…" but Constance just barreled right through his attempt.  
  
"Just because I haven't been born and bred in the jolly ole country of England," she spat out venomously, "doesn't mean I don’t deserve to be served and respected by a low-life, insignificant little worm of a waiter like you! I'd like to speak with your manager."  
  
The waiters' eyes went wide with panic before Draco cut in smoothly, "That won't be necessary." Constance's unlined brow furrowed. "Clearly he meant no offense, Connie."  
  
Her face softened upon hearing the nickname. Certainly, to her, it meant that they shared a more intimate relationship outside the bedroom. To him, it meant nothing at all.  
  
"You're right, Drake," Constance agreed readily. Placing her manicured hand over his, she gave it a warm squeeze before saying, "I guess I'm a tad touchy. You Brits can be so rude and aloof to foreigners."  
  
Draco slipped his hand from beneath hers while ignoring her hurt expression and asked nonchalantly, "Would you care for a drink?"  
  
At the mention of alcohol, Constance's face lit up. Flicking her tongue over her lips briefly, she nodded her auburn head and said to the man still standing patiently by their table, "I'd like a Sex on the Beach." Giving Draco a smile reeking with innuendo, she murmured huskily, "Maybe later we can follow it up with the real thing."  
  
Draco arched an inquisitive brow at the invitation, but he was far from tempted. It was true that she was beautiful with her alabaster skin and large, luminous green eyes. There was also the fact that her body was such that it could have graced the folds of Whoo Whoo Witches. No matter. Its allure had long since faded.  
  
The waiter cleared his throat, fidgeting with his order pad and pen before inquiring, "Would you like to see menus as well?"  
  
Constance looked at Draco expectantly, but he had no intentions of drawing this out longer than need be. "No," he replied succinctly, "that will be all."  
  
Constance's face fell at missing out on a free meal, but she quickly rallied when Draco pulled out a flat gold case from the breast pocket of his black suit jacket and offered her a Turkish cigarette. The tip flared to life above the flame of Draco's matching lighter, which he placed on the table next to the case. Sitting back, he tacked on an amiable half-smile.  
  
After blowing out a stream of burned-charcoal-colored smoke, Constance sighed happily, visibly slumping in a relaxed manner. "These are fabulous, darling." Draco grimaced at the endearment. He was not a fan of anyone other than his mother using them, and Constance was well aware he hated it when she took it upon herself to do so. "Aren't you having one?" She asked, eyelids falling to half-mast over drowsy, pupil-blown eyes.  
  
"I've given them up, but please," he said, while pushing the lighter and case across the table, "Accept these as a small token of friendship."

She gasped in delighted surprise before reaching for them eagerly. The avid gleam that flickered in her dark irises did not go unnoticed by Draco. True, he was handsome, and in possession of a lean, fit form but he knew that wasn’t the only reason Constance – or any other woman for that matter –was attracted to him. The female persuasion was much the same whether, in the Muggle or Wizarding World, Draco thought with an edge of contempt.  
  
Just once, he’d like a woman to want to be with him for whom he was as a wizard and not what he could offer them from his over-flowing vaults at Gringotts. Was it any wonder that Draco was jaded when it came to the female persuasion? His mother despaired of him ever settling down, but he saw no purpose in doing so when he seemed incapable of falling in love.  
  
Perhaps he was being too hard on himself. Maybe it wasn’t that he was incapable of it but that he feared falling for someone who wasn’t genuinely in love with _him_.  He'd been dead-set against settling for someone hankering after his title and fortune. Draco wasn’t all that sure he even knew what real love was. Other than the maternal sort shown to him by his mother, he had nary a passing fancy with the word or emotion.  
  
Constance was gazing at him with a silly, dreamy smile. Having finished her cigarette, she wasdraped across the table, limbs boneless in their fluidity. He chuckled darkly, satisfaction filling him. His little gift was working beautifully. Contrary to popular belief Draco hadn’t coasted through Potions class on the black, billowy coat-tails of his godfather's robes. In fact, hewasreallyquiteremarkably adept. He even brewed up his own concoctions such as the one the woman across from him had just smoked.

Draco had perfected a new element which he then mixed with a Confusing and Befuddlement draught and – as a lovely extra – he also placed a Confundus charm on the cigarettes. It would do no lasting harm or damage, but it would go a long way at making her much more agreeable to what he was about to say.  
  
The waiter returned with her drink and hurriedly left them to their own devices. Draco couldn't blame the bloke. Constance had been a real cow to him, and he more than likely didn’t want to hang around for fear of a repeat performance from the vile woman hailing from the States.  
  
Months ago Constance had informed him that she was in England on a student visa, but Draco couldn't help but wonder what University would take her on because she didn’t exactly _ooze_ intelligence. He never cared enough to ask, though he did learn that she was from a place called New York. She babbled on about herself incessantly in the beginning of their liaison, but Draco had paid her ramblings very little mind. He wanted only to get her between the sheets and – now that he had his fill – it was time to move on to the next warm body.  
  
Plastering on his most charming smile, Draco murmured, "As enjoyable as it has been, I think our time together has run its course, don’t you?"  
  
In her potion-induced, suggestible state, Constance wasted no time in mumbling, "Whatever you say, Drake." Lifting her glass, she slurped noisily at her drink.  
  
"Brilliant," Draco congratulated her decision. "In no time at all you will forget about me. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if you never recognize my face in a crowd again."  
  
Upon hearing those words, Constance's face went suddenly slack. Her bleary eyes began to swirl until there was a marked, unnatural dark gold hue swimming in their depths. A millisecond later, the potent combination of spell and potion caused them to expand sharply, and then contract back to their natural color. Bearing a bemused expression, she rose from the chair without glancing at him and made her out of the private alcove.

  
Suppressing a triumphant grin, Draco reached for the forgotten lighter and case, placing them back in his breast pocket. The magic would wear off in a few hours, but Constance would have forgotten it all. She would have no memory of him what-so-ever. In effect, Draco would be invisible to his ex-lovers' eyes for at least a year.  
  
If Draco had intended to market his discovery, he would be deluged with praise and more galleons than could be counted. He’d much rather keep his potion/spell under wraps, thereby making it easy for him to dole it out whenever it would best serve his own purposes. Sighing in contentment, Draco thought that life was good when being a wizard.  
  
Tapping his fingers idly on the tabletop, Draco contemplated leaving but changed his mind when he thought about Granger sitting at the bar. She looked well on her way to a state of drunkenness. Apparating was going to be out of the question for her. True, there was no love lost between them, but he was still a gentleman, and a gentleman always came to the rescue of a lady. If Granger hadcontinued to down thealcohol as quickly as heobservedearlier, thenshewasdefinitelygoing to be in need of someserious rescuing.  
  
Leaving a hefty tip for the waiter, Draco stood with a natural grace befitting his breeding, and went to stand just inside the half-hidden archway. It was a relief to discover that Granger hadn’t moved from her spot. The bartender was bringing her another round of some ghastly neon concoction. He had to give the curly-haired witch credit. From the back, the line of her hour-glass figure maintained its stiff, ramrod state. Although, clearly, she had passed a safe limit if the concerned look on the bartender's face were an accurate barometer. It all made Draco wonder if Granger _ever_ allowed herself to loosen up.  
  
Smirking to himself, Draco thought that maybe he should help Granger out with that little problem. It wasn't as if she were off limits now that the Weasel had taken it into his addled head to fuck up by fucking around. _Not_ thatbeingattached to someone elsehadeverreallybeen a deterrent to him in thepast. Seeing as this was Granger, he'd have bet his last knut that if he'd made a pass at her whilst she still been involved with that red-headed twit, he would've gotten another punch to the nose. She had fire in her. He knew this, and yet instead of embracing and owning her passionate nature she tried to deny it, or to stamp it out of existence. This behavior confused him on one hand while attracting him greatly on the other.  
  
He doubted that twerp Weasley had the ability the coax that repressed passion to the surface. Poor Granger probably hadn’t even had proper shag from that dim-witted fool. Draco narrowed slate-grey eyes, speculating on whether or not simply to offer to help Granger home, or offer something that would generate pleasurable heat and sweat. Just thinking on it sent a bolt of sweet arousal zipping south.  
  
While it was true that he and Blaise had discussed Granger in great length and as to whether they’d be willing to give it a go in bedding her, Draco hadn’t informed the other wizard of just how much he _had_ thought about it. Blaise was his friend, and Draco trusted him as much as it was possible for him _to_ trust. That aside, he hadn't been prepared to entertain all the queries and comments that Blaise was sure to have bombarded him with if he had.  
  
Granger appealed to him on numerous levels. Shehad a particularclass which headmired, andsheadaptedwell to the Wizarding World and its ways. She possessed a kind and giving nature which reminded him of his mother. Physically she was very attractive and – as Blaise had so accurately pointed out – she was intellectually superior and was by far the most stimulating woman of his acquaintance.  
  
Draco huffed out a short laugh because he doubted that for all of his talk that Blaise possessed the actual balls to proposition Granger. _That_ was where he and Blaise differed. For Draco, it hadn’t been a matter of _if_ but _when_.  Now that she was no longer encumbered by dead weight, there was nothing to prevent him from making his move.

 

* * *

  
  
Hermione's handshookslightly as sheraised her… um, yeah… whatnumberwasthis? After a few seconds of attempting mental arithmetic, and failing abysmally, Hermione mumbled to herself, "Piffle, who cares. What's in a number? Nothing important… that’s what."  
  
What _was_ important was that she had enough to the point that she was feeling absolutely no pain. So yay for me, she thought while grinning happily; mission almost accomplished. "Barkeep," she called out, waving an arm. If she could still string at least two thoughts together then, she needed lots more drinks. The object of this little outing, after all, was to put _all_ her thoughts to rest for a bit.  
  
For several minutes, Hermione attempted to catch the man’s eye. Was she beingignored? Hermione began to think that was the case. She called out again more loudly this time and sounding much more strident. It did the trick. He abandoned his post by the woman he'd been chatting up, and hurried down to Hermione's end of the bar. Before she had a chance to request another of those fabulous mixed glasses of sunshine, a voice from behind said, "I think the lady has had enough."  
  
Looking mighty relieved, the bartender said, "Hello, Mr. Black." Motioning at Hermione, he continued, sounding contrite. "I wasn’t planning on serving the lady. I wasjust gonna settle the bill and call her a cab."  
  
Turning her head, Hermione fully expected to see Sirius – odd as that would be –and instead met the glittering grey gaze of Draco Malfoy. Startled, Hermione's mouth fell open. To her credit, she didn’t even flinch when he used his finger to gentlytip her chin until her lips were once again compressed.  
  
"Gaping like a fish is most unattractive," he drawled in amusement, "even on you, Granger."  
  
Hermione's head began to swim alarmingly. From all the _alcohol_ , she hurriedly assured herself, before inquiring in a confused manner, "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"  
  
One of the Wizarding World's most obnoxious of Full-Blooded royalty was slumming in a Muggle dance club: Trying to process that fact was causing an ache to develop in her temple. Of course, it had nothing to do with drinking copious amounts of liquor. Nope...  Not at all.  
  
 Shrugging casually, heansweredsimply, "I enjoyventuring out into your birthworld from time to time, Granger.”  
  
"Really," sheasked, disbeliefclear in both her toneand on her adorably flushedfeatures.  
  
Draco took in those features, feasting on the high arc of cheekbones covered in soft looking apricot-tinted skin, enjoying how the heightened color brought out the honeyed-caramel accents in her large brown eyes. He dropped his scrutiny to the lush contours of her mouth. She was nibbling on the bottom lip in what he assumed was perplexed vexation with those small, perfectly even teeth. He remembered quite well just how over-sized the two front ones had once been.  
  
Honestly, even back during their Hogwarts days he thought her somewhat pretty despite them, although he’d rather been hexed within an inch of his life then admit to it. His father would have beaten him senseless with that cane of his if he so much as hinted at a smidge of interest in a Mud-Blood. Draco had no such qualms now. Fear of his father, and what he might do if crossed, was a thing of the past. Draco did _what_ he pleased, _when_ he pleased, and with _whom_ he pleased regardless of how it irritated or offended Lucius Malfoy.  
  
Hermione fidgeted nervously under Draco's intense regard. Then, she let a stunned squeak when he flashed an absolutely killer boyish grin at her. It should be a crime she thought, for him to have such a fantastic smile. I mean she knew it was _Malfoy_ and all, but it wasn't stopping her from feeling the effects of it the whole way down to her tingling toes!  
  
Crap! Get a hold of yourself, Granger! Yes, he was a very good looking wizard. _Very_.  She reminded herself that he wasn’t someone who would like twice in her direction. _Not_ that she wanted him to look in her direction! I mean sure he sizzled with truckloads of tremendous sex appeal, and that mouth! That beautifully molded mouth which was now twisting into a devilishly alluring smirk. Crap! She needed to sober up and quick before she did something monumentally _beyond_ stupid!

  
Hermione closed her eyes in an attempt to gather her wits about her. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he whispered close to her ear, "How about it, Granger?"  
   
 "H-how about w-what," she stuttered, long, dark lashes shooting up from where they'd been resting along the curve of her heated cheeks.  
  
Draco couldn't get over how discombobulated Granger was getting by just a bit of casual flirtation. The intimidating and unapproachable Hermione Granger sat before him with an uncertain, but evident, spark of desire swimming in her charmingly vulnerable gaze. It was hot as hell and had him thinking that she ought to get tipsy more often because it made her seductively, sensuously soft and sweet. Draco made a spur of the moment decision.  
  
"Come on, Granger," he murmured, imprisoning her in the flashing, dark fire from his eyes, "I'll see you home."  
  
His libido was screaming at him for not jumping on her unspoken invitation. Heshovedthose protestations asidebecausewhenhedidfinallybedthisparticularwitch, shewasgoing to be in fullcontrol of all her faculties. To do otherwise would be unfulfilling for them both. He wanted them to walk into this with eyes clear of an alcohol-induced haze and wide open.  
  
"Oh," was her less than verbose reply. Double crap! Did she sound as disappointed to him and she did to herself?! "I'm not ready to leave," she proclaimed, lifting her chin in a determined manner. There. Take that, Mr. Hot and Sexy.  
  
Ignoring her show of stubbornness, Draco addressed the bartender who was watching their exchange with unfeigned absorption. "Whatever the lady has had, put it on my bill and I'll settle up with Bay next week at tea."  
  
The bartender nodded. He knew, as did all the employees that Mr. Black had 'tea' regularly with the owner and was to be treated as an A-lister whenever he came into the Club. Anything Mr. Black wanted, he was to get, and pronto!  
  
"Hey," Hermione muttered in protest when Draco plucked her purse from her lap. Tucking it firmly under his arm he grasped her lightly by the elbow.  
  
"Come along," he commanded while pulling her up from her stool.  
  
Annoyed, Hermione spat out, "I do not appreciate beingtreated like some wayward child."  
  
Her protests sputtered to a halt when Draco leaned in close and purred, "Believe me Granger there are many ways I'd like to treat you. None of which are remotely child-like."  
  
Hermione swallowed hard, nervously licking her lips because Malfoy looked downright predatory! He followed the movement of her tongue, the silvery sheen of his eyes darkening to that of smelted steel. His fine, aristocratic nose flared; the hold on her arm tightening to an almost painful degree. Instead of freeing herself from his grip and stepping back, she found herself moving involuntarily further into his personal bubble, taking in the warm, spicy scent of his body. Oh great Merlin, it was as intoxicating to her senses as all those marvelous mixed drinks had been.  
  
This was madness, pure and simple! Hermione knew it, and he probably did too, yet here they both were. The real kicker here was that she didn’t even _ like_ Malfoy! A person didn’t have to think highly of someone to be attracted to them, and yeah… she was going to have to accept it… she wasattracted to him. Devastatingly so.  
  
"Granger," he growled – spiking her arousal to an almost unbearable level – "if you don’t stop tempting me – spectators or not – I'm going to shove you up against this bar and show you just how un-childlike I view you."  
  
"Okay," Hermione whispered, stunning them both with her forwardness.  
  
A virtual tidal wave of hot color swept over Hermione, bathing her from top to bottom in a swift, unadulterated mortification of massive proportions. When Malfoy's fair brows almost disappeared from his forehead, Hermione's embarrassment was horrifically complete. "Oh, I… uh…I meant…"  
  
"I know what you meant, Granger," Draco rapped out hoarsely.  
  
Hermione had a pretty good inkling of what was about to happen next. Even so, when Malfoy crowded into her space, she gasped out loud in pleasurable shock and surprise because sweet Merlin! The closer he got the more delicious he smelled, and the heat pouring from the powerful frame pressed up so urgently against her was mind-boggling!

Malfoy crushed her mouth with his, and Hermione met that stunning force of nature with an equally, out-of-control ferocity. Their tongues collided in a feverish, wanton carnality. Hermione felt compelled to push her aching breasts more tightly against Malfoy's torso; moaning at how amazing the added stress felt against their overly sensitized peaks  
   
Draco hadn't intended to do this. Hadn't meant to push Granger this far, this fast. He’d had every intention of making sure she got home safely. The plan he'd been formulating in his head had been more or less to wait until she was sober. After that, he'd planned on doing a bit of wooing. He was big on wooing, _and_ he was good at it.

When all wassaid and done, Draco hoped that she might, _might_ want to indulge in some fantastic sex with him. Draco's track record in respect to bedding women was extraordinary, but Granger was no ordinary woman, so he'd have to hedge his bet on whether or not she was game. Hedefinitelyhadn’t banked on Granger instigating an actual come-on! Not that he was complaining.  
  
How could he, when all that soft, feminine flesh was smack dab up against his own, creating a whirlwind of burgeoning want and need? An uncontrollable tide of lust began coursing and vibrating through every fiber of his being. By all that was holy! - She tasted amazing, like sweet nectar and honey, and Draco couldn't get enough! He had to be… No! Needed to be closer; needed the wonder that was Hermione Granger to ease this agonizing ache.  
  
Reluctantly, Draco pried his lips away long enough to mutter raggedly, "Christ, Granger." Sliding his hands down to her fabulous hips, he held her fast as he swiveled and ground against her accommodating flesh, making it very clear that everything below his hand-crafted dragons hide belt was up for anything she was willing to give. Mouthing at the sensitive skin just below her ear, he whispered, "It's up to you, Granger. Whatever you want. I haveflat near-by."

He could feel her entire body vibrating and trembling with unresolved passion. Her breathing was as uneven as his own, and this close, he felt the wild erratic pound of her heart. She said nothing for an interminably long, long minute, then – for the second time that evening – she murmured huskily, "Okay." Followed by a breathless, "Let's go."  
  
  


 

* * *

 

**Reviews are lovely and comments welcome!**


	8. Remus and Teddy and Sirius... Oh my!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Teddy have a difference of opinion about whether or not Teddy should go to his Grammy's for the week-end. Sirius adds his two knuts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank my new beta Poison Pineapple for going over this chapter and bringing it up to snuff!
> 
> I own nothing and make no money.

**Chapter 8**

 

 

“Don’t wanna go!”   
  
Remus looked at his son’s defiantly set features with exasperated affection. His hair had turned a turnip shade to match the color swiftly suffusing the little boys face. He heaved a sigh before saying, “Teddy, your Grammy has been looking forward to your visit all week long.” Hoping to appeal to his son’s betternatureheadded, “Do youreallywant to disappoint her?”  
  
Remus saw a flash of uncertainty in his son’s eyes, but it wasquicklydispelled by a renewed grim determination. As if to emphasize that determination, he crossed his tiny arms over his chest and stated, “No, but I still don’t wanna go.”   
  
The harassed father sighed tiredly again before sitting down on the bed next to his fuming boy. The little beggar sure was being stubborn. Remus’ lips twitched into a small, sad smile. When Teddy was like this, he reminded Remus so much of Dora. That woman had been the epitome of stubborn, and nothing and no one could sway her from her purpose when she’d set her mind to something. Thank Merlin she’d been as stubborn as she had been, or the little lad with his red-hued head turned resolutely away from him would not exist.

It would have been a tragedy of sorts because his son had been his salvation, and he would be forever grateful to the excellent witch who’d given birth to him. Thinking of Dora was still painful Remus couldn’t deny it, and he missed her every day, but it was no longer the debilitating ache it had once been. Time and Teddy had taken the initial sharp sting of her absence from his soul. Besides, who could be miserable with the likes of Sirius around to liven things up?   
  
Harry – the ever doting godfather – had been another source of comfort but in an entirely different manner. He’d been invaluable in giving Remus much needed rest in Teddy’s infant days. Those days, those long lonely days that spilled into nights, when Remus barely functioned due to Dora’s absence had been trying. Harry had been a bloody godsend; feeding and walking the floorboards with Teddy while he whimpered and wailed. Colic Molly had called it, but Remus himself had thought it more likely that the child had been feeling the effects of losing the warmth and tenderness of his mum.   
  
Remus lightly tugged on a wayward tuft, and when his mulish son didn’t jerk away, he ruffled the fine, soft tresses so like his own. Speaking quietly, he asked, “What’s wrong? Why don’t you want to go? I thought you always had a good time at Grammy’s.”   
  
“I do,” Teddy huffily agreed, and then added, “but, I’ll miss ‘Mione.”  


Remus’ forehead creased into a worried frown. This was not good, not good at all. At first, Remus hadn’t been at all concerned by Teddy’s growing attachment to their female housemate. Of late, Teddy had been getting more and more proprietary of her time and attention. Itwassweetandreallycute to see, but alarming when one thought about theinevitablerepercussions. Hermione was such a warm and loving woman. Remus couldn’t fault Teddy on his staunch devotion to her. The entire household had gotten a lift from her presence. She was an out-and-out amazing witch in countless ways. Still, it unnerved him a bit at just how doggedly devoted his son had become. Hermione, incredible though she was, was bound to leave Grimmauld one day; it was inevitable. The aftermath of her departure was something that Remus had come to dread because his marvelous, sweet boy was going to be heartbroken.   
  
Remus knew that for the benefit of all that he held dear that he should discourage this flourishing attachment. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Teddy had known only Andromeda as a steady female influence in his narrow little life. Dora’s mum had done everything in her power to maintain close ties with her grandson. Unfortunately, it couldn’t compete with the daily impact of Hermione Granger. Teddy absolutely worshipped the ground upon which she walked.   
  
“Listen, my lad,” Remus began, trying to sound somewhat stern, “You’re going to your grandmother’s and that is final.”   
  
Teddy – arms still defiantly crossed – turned to his father and with touching vulnerability asked, “Can Mione come too?” It took Remus completely off guard. “She tells the bestest stories, dad! Not only that, when she’s done she stays till I fall asleep. Sometimes she sings to me; her voice is so pretty. Don’t you think Mione’s pretty, dad?”   
  
Remus, still trying to process his son’s stupefying request managed to utter confusedly, “Yes, yes, I do.”  


“I’m gonna marry her someday,” Teddy proudly announced, smiling widely.   
  
Ruffling his hair affectionately, Remus asked with a grin of his own, “Don’t you think you’re a little young to be thinking of marriage?”   
  
Guilelessly, Teddy informed him, “Mrs. Weasley saidthatshewants me to marry, Victoire.” Remus’ eyebrows shot up. This was news to him. “I heard her telling Fleur it would be an eye-deal match and that our children would be mensely gifted.”   
  
Would Molly never tire of her matchmaking ways, Remus wondered, annoyed that she was already trying to pair off his only child and with a Weasley no less. Personally, Remus had nothing against beingtied by marriage to the Weasley clan, but it was far too early to be contemplating such things. They were children for Merlin sake, and Remus wasbound and determined that Teddy get the full childhood experience. There would be no growing up before his time, not the way Hermione and the boys had to do!

  
Screwing his face up into a look of disgust, Teddy continued, “I don’t wanna marry _her_.  She’s always following me round and pesterin' me. She’s no fun at all!” Scrunching up his nose, he added, “She smells funny too.”   
  
Remus chuckled. Although Victoire was only five years of age, she was a true daughter of Fleur. Not only was she the spitting image of her blonde beauty of a mother, but she was every bit as feminine and girly. Just recently she had discovered the joys of perfume.   
  
“You can put all thoughts of matrimony aside, my lad,” Remus declared with a grin. “It will be a good long time before I’m ready to give you up to someone else regardless of whether she smells good or not.”   
  
Looking up at his father with solemn blue eyes, Teddy asked, “Do you ever think about gettin' married again? Mrs. Weasley says you ought to.” Damn that Molly! Had the woman no sense at all? “She says you’re a fine wizard, and it’s a shame that you’re stuck here with Sirius.” Cocking his head to the side, Teddy asked, “Doesn’t Mrs. Weasley like, Sirius?”   
  
Again, Remus wastaken off guard. Molly was usually able to keep her disdain of Sirius well under wraps around others. Either she was talking considerably too freely when Teddy was about, and he’d picked up conversations not meant for his young ears, or his son was intuitive beyond his years. Remus carefully and thoughtfully put together as diplomatic a response as he could muster.   
  
“I wouldn’t say that Mrs. Weasley _dislikes_ Sirius…”   
  
A barking  laugh from the doorway drew both occupants notice. “Come now, old boy, we both know the batty harridan loathes the very air I breath.”   
  
“Sirius,” Remus warned while casting a quick glance at his son who was looking at Sirius with far too many questions in his eyes.  
  
“What?” His friend demanded with false innocence as he leisurely strolled into the room. “You know as well as I do that the Weasley matriarch only tolerates me because of Harry. Not only that, ever since Hermione’s come to us that interfering, prune-faced cow has been plotting a way to get our girl to take back her wastrel of a son.”  
  
“Sirius,” Remus rasped out again. Although, his oldest mate spoke the truth, he firmly believed that running each other down would help no one.

   
Leaning with casual elegance against the wall, Sirius replied with a glint of humor in his eyes, “As you wish, Moony. I do feel I must tell you that this soft spot you have for dear, _dear_ Molly not  only grates on my nerves, but churns my stomach to an alarming extent.”  
  
Instead of answering Sirius, Remus turned a smiling visage to Teddy and suggested, “Why don’t you go to the library and gather a few books to take with you. You know Grammy enjoys reading to you.”   
  
Arms still crossed, Teddy hopped from the bed, huffing petulantly, “She’s not as good at it as ‘Mione.” Stomping away he continued to mutter quietly about the ways and whys that Hermione was superior in every way to that of Andromeda.   
  
“He sure has got it bad,” Sirius remarked with a fond smirk. “Not that I blame him. Hermione is awfully remarkable.”  
  
“Yes, he does and yes, she is,” was Remus’ low, too serious reply. “I’m worried that after she’s gone, Teddy will take it badly.”   
  
Hitching up a dark brow Sirius asked, sounding amused, “Planning on throwing her out, then?”   
  
“Of course not,” Remus scoffed. “The benefits of her presence here with Teddy have been incalculable. She’s opened up a whole new world for him.”   
  
Shrugging, Sirius pointed out, “That’s the case for us all. She’s been a breath of much needed fresh air barring the nasty circumstances which brought her to our humble abode.”   
  
“Regardless of how wonderful it’s been,” Remus argued, “I’m concerned for Teddy’s well-being once Hermione gets herself together and then leaves us.”  
  
Nodding his head, Sirius answered sounding conciliatory, “I get that, mate honestly I do, but don’t you think you’re borrowing trouble?”   
  
“Perhaps,” Remus conceded slowly before adding, “Even so, there will come a time when Hermione will get over what happened with Ron and take up with some other, more deserving wizard.”  
  
“Ah-ha,” Sirius exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at best friend. “You _do_ think Hermione deserves better than that aimless twat. I knew it.”  
  
Remus ran a hand through his overly long hair, before replying, “I’ve got nothing against him per se, but yes, I do believe Hermione does deserve better than the likes of Ronald Weasley.”

  
Pouting slightly, Sirius asked, “Why didn’t you ever say so? I’ve walked around for years citing the whys and where-to-for’s of the heinous tragedy of the relationship between the two, and you’ve acted as if they weremeant to be. Hell, you’ve even told me to shut my trap about it, and all along you’ve been against it?! Why didn’t you say something?”  
  
Remus wished Sirius would let it drop. He’d already exhausted his somewhat low energy forces on trying to convince Teddy to go to Andromeda’s. The full moon was only a few days away, and tiredness was one of the symptoms of the impending transformation. Remus didn’t want to hash this out now, but when Sirius got hold of a notion he was like a dog with a bone.   
  
“I suppose,” Remus began reluctantly, “I was just trying to support Hermione’s choice. She’s my friend, Sirius and as much as I might have disagreed with that choice, I still felt I owed that much to her.”   
  
Sirius remained silent, but gave Remus a hard look that spoke volumes.  
  
“The Weasley’s aren’t bad people,” Remus pointed out reasonably before saying, “That's not taking into account that they might have spoiled their two youngest a tad.” Sirius snorted. “Believe me, if I thought Hermione would have paid my reservations any mind, I would have offered my thoughts on the matter.”  
Nodding his head thoughtfully, Sirius replied ruefully, “It is doubtful that she would have heeded your warning; that girl’s as stubborn as a testy Hippogriff.”  
  
Remus laughing answered back, “As you have had every reason to know. Personal experience with Hermione’s temper and stubborn ways seem to be your lot in life.”  
  
Chuckling, Sirius asked, “Can I help it if she’s a perfect object to tease. She’sloads of fun to mess with, and besides, I thinkitcheers her up to letloose on me. I don’t take it personally. How can I when I set out to rile her?”

  
Shaking his head from side-to-side, Remus said in bemusement, “You sure do have an odd way of bringing her out of her slump I’ll grant you that. Still, I’m going to have to agree with you because I also think Hermione secretly enjoys all the conflict you precipitate.” Changing the trajectory of the conversation, Remus inquired, “How’s Harry?”  
  
Sirius’ face twisted into a frown. “Well, as you know, he only comes out of his room when Hermione’s either out of the house or in her own bedroom. I’m worried about him, mate. He’s been moping for days and continues to beat himself up endlessly over his argument with Hermione.”  
  
“They’ve had their issues over the years, and managed to get passed them,” Remus remarked casually. “Has Harry confided in you?”  
  
“He has.” Sirius admitted.  
  
“And?” On seeing his friend’s serious expression, Remus quickly added, “If Harry’s asked for your confidence on the subject, then I completely understand. I apologize for prying.”  
  
Quirking an eyebrow, Sirius answered, “He hasn’t asked me to keep silent on it. I’m just concerned that what happened might have irreparably damaged their friendship.”  
  
Remus’ own eyebrows shot up at this shocking statement. “Maybe not,” he answered back in an attempt to lighten the solemnity of the situation. “Hermione has a remarkable capacity to forgive those who are closest to her heart. Harry certainly falls into that category.”   
  
“True,” Sirius agreed. “Let’s see if you still believe that after I’ve told you what he’s done.”  
  
Remus listened intently as Sirius laid it all out for him. It hadn’t been a significant revelation to hear that Harry’d been harboring a long-standing crush. However, he let out a groan of disbelief when his best mate got to the part where Harry had told Hermione that Ron’s indiscretion hadn’t been a one-off; that he’d been cheating on her for years.   
  
“How in Merlin’s name could Harry have been so stupid,” Remus bit out, torn between exasperation and anger at the young man.   
  
“He said _that_ part slipped out in the heat of the moment,” Sirius explained. “I realize what he’s done is horrible, but I can’t help but feel sorry for the lad. He’s truly repentant and fears that Hermione won’t ever forgive him.”

  
Clicking his tongue, Remus answered back, “He could have just told her of his crush and left Ron out of it.”  
  
“He could, and should have left Arthur’s moronic offspring out of it, “Sirius agreed. “Unfortunately, it’s too late for could’ve and should’ve.”

  
Sighing, Remus said, “He may have made a significant misstep, but I can’t fault Harry on his crush.” Sirius’ brow shot up again. Flushing slightly, Remus retorted defensively, “What? I’m not blind you know, and I admire many of Hermione’s fine intellectual attributes.” The Animagus dropped his eyes to the floor but couldn’t contain his satisfied smirk. “It isn’t as if you haven’t noticed her either, so you can quit with the smirking.”

  
Grinning widely, Sirius drawled, “She’s easy on the eye and I’ve always enjoyed looking at pretty things. I’m also not denying that there’s more to her than that fabulous bod.” He tacked on after observing Remus’ censorious glare. “Fact is, I’ve been waiting for you to declare your intentions.”  
  
Remus couldn’t have been more startled than if Sirius informed him that a cure for Lycanthropy hadbeendiscovered.   
  
“The only ‘intentions’ I havefor Hermione is of thefriendshipvariety!”  
“Come on,” Sirius good-naturedly answeredback, “My beady eyes aren’t theonlyones following her about. You’ve alsomadeit a habit to golurking around Teddy’s bedroomdoor at night after you’ve beenbanned from theroom by your son. On top of that, you sit with her in the library for hours on end.”  
  
“She tells fascinating bedtime stories,” Remus defended himself. “As for the library, well… we like to talk about the books we’re reading. It’s nice to have someone to discuss such things with because Merlin knows _you_ haven’t cracked a book since our schooldays.”  
  
“Whatever,” Sirius dismissed his accusation airily. “You’d better make your move soon because a woman of Hermione’s caliber won’t be free for long.”  
  
“I wouldn’t dream of ‘making a move’ on Hermione,” Remus refuted. Blushing once more he added hesitantly, “It would be far too soon for that, and she’s highly vulnerable at the moment. It would be immoral to take advantage of her fractured state of mind and emotions.”

Frowning, Sirius pointed out, “Your gallantry – while gallant and completely in tune with your nature – could end up being your undoing. I have it on fine authority that more than one eligible wizard either has plans or is formulating a plan on winning our girls’ affection.”

“Really?”   


Remus wasn’t toosurprised to discover that other wizards were interested in wooing the charming witch. Whatdidshock him wasthefactthattheywereactuallygoing to make their intentionsknown to her. Clearly, they weren’t as concerned at the indelicacy of such a move at this point in Hermione’s life as he was.

  
“Yes, _really_ ,” Sirius shotback snarkily. “Whilst Harry was pouring his heart out to me on the events that precipitated Hermione’s latest crying spree, he let slip that Hermione has had coffee very recently with Viktor Krum.”  


“Oh,” was all Remus said, sounding dejected.

 The only person, who seemed to have been oblivious to how much the famous Seeker hadbeengone on Hermione all those years ago, had been Hermione. If he were back, what chance did an aging werewolf have against a familiar fancy?  
  
“Did I happen to mention that I had a drink or two with Amos Diggory last week,” Sirius asked, adding to Remus’ confusion. It was difficult enough trying to process the information on Viktor Krum. Continuing on, Sirius explained, “I hear from Amos that his outlandishly handsome son has all ready made a move on Hermione. Just the usual flirting and chatting her up here and there for the moment. By all accounts – Amos’ that is – Cedric plans on asking to be her escort at the upcoming Ministry soiree.”  
  
Remus’ breath escaped him in a long rush. “That’s it then, I mean there was very little hope to begin with, but with Viktor and Cedric making a case for Hermione’s hand; what chance does an old wreck like me have? Then, there’s Harry. It’s clear that he’d like to alter their platonic relationship, and I certainly wouldn’t want to stand in the way. Quite honestly, they make terrific sense.”

  
Rolling his eyes, Sirius chided gently, “I’m thinking _that_ owl has already flown the Owlery. Besides, you have plenty to recommend you, and you’ve got to stop worrying about other blokes; including Harry. If you honestly have feelings for Hermione, you can’t let yourself be put off by some ridiculous sense of chivalry, or some batty notion that you’re not worthy.”

  
Slowly, Remus got to his feet. Then countered with a wry, “What about you, Padfoot? All of this teasing, andpicking on of Hermione, remind me of our Third Year whenyouplayed all thoseawfultricks on Athenia Olymprius.” Sirius’ dark brows drew together tightly in annoyance. “You weren’t fooling either James or me with all that nastiness and constant belly-aching about her either. You wanted her to notice and like you.” Ignoring his friend’s deathglare, Remus continued, “You’ve beendoingthesamesort of thing with Hermione.”  
  
Crossing his arms over the wide expanse of his bare chest, Sirius answered defensively, “Hermione is fun to tease. _End_ of  story. Perhaps my stint in prison has stunted my emotional growth.” Remus’ face twisted into a slightly sad smile. Put out by this, Sirius blurted out sarcastically, “So, go ahead and alert the Wizengamot and perhaps they’ll throw me back into Azkaban for using such infantile tactics to gain the attention off a pretty witch.”   
  
“Don’t even joke about such a thing,” Remus remarked emphatically, horrified at his friend’s suggestion.  
  
“Then don’t go about feeling sorry for my past plight, you dunderhead,” Sirius shot back acidly. “It’s quite disagreeable as I’ve put that part of my miserable life behind me.”  
  
“You brought it up,” Remus pointed out with a slight edge of amusement.  
  
“Yes, well, I’m a dunderhead too,” Sirius muttered absently. “Truth is Hermione wouldn’t look at me as any anything other than the ultimate wayward Marauder with a Peter Pan complex.”

“Peter Pan complex?!” Remus blurted out; eyes widening is astonishment. “Where in Merlin’s beard have you heard the notion of a Peter Pan complex?”

“I _do_ read the occasional book, y’know,” Sirius bit out waspishly. “Bit difficult not to when Hermione leaves piles of the things wherever she pleases.” Remus wasstruck speechless. “I may have flipped through a few; purely out of curiosity, and only a snippet here and there. I don’t plan on making it a habit, nor do I have ambitions on taking over as the resident swot.” Cocking his head to the side, Sirius added derisively, “You and Hermione still have that title down in spades, so no fear there.”

“Padfoot, you never cease to amaze,” Remus said, laughter glinting in his light blue eyes. “With all this Peter Pan business I’m going to assume that you’re of the belief that Hermione would prefer to mother and or discipline you versus snog you senseless.”

 Glancing down at his crossed ankles, Sirius replied sounding morose, “That about sums it up in a nutshell.”

“ _Would_ you want to snog her,” Remus asked, curiosity piqued. “Because it sounds as if you would like to.”

Sirius hesitated for a moment, then spoke slowly and softly, “Don’t be daft, of course I would. As well as being easy on the eye, she’s got tremendous wit and is one of the few people that can intelligently keep up with my bawdy repartee.” Grinning in a devil-may-care manner, he flippantly tacked on, “She even manages to make _me_ blush every now and again; who _wouldn’t_ want to snog such an enchanting combination within an inch of her life?”

“Agreed,” Remus returned readily. Giving his friend a calculating look, he commented, “You’re still quite good-looking, you know.” Sirius flipped his shoulder length hair back from his face pretending to preen. Remus ignored the self-satisfied gesture. “You’ve also got a well-maintained form along with considerable charm and charisma.”

Sighing dramatically, Sirius struck another pose before bemoaning plaintively, “I know. It’s a curse I shall have to bear till the end of my days, no doubt.”

Laughter bubbled up from Remus spilling over into uncontrollable guffaws interspersed with breathy wheezing. It took a few minutes to catch his breath, and when he did, he chortled jokingly, “You might want to work on your self-esteem issues, mate. It isn’t good to be walking about with so low of an opinion of your own self."

“My ego takes plenty of beating at the tiny, exquisite hands of Hermione Granger, thank you very much.” Narrowing stormy, grey eyes, Sirius spat out, "Hermione - versus _Molly_ \-  does it with good intentions; she’s out to save my sorry soul. Molly’s just a right royal bi…”

“Sirius!” “Remus cut him off frantically as Teddy’s light brown head popped round the corner of the doorway. Sirius bit his lip in vexation, clearly frustrated at having been forestalled. Fortunately, good bloke that he was, he remained silent out of respect for Teddy’s innocent ears. “Ready to go,” Remus asked, wondering why his son was hovering half in and half out of the room.

“Spect so,” Teddy answered back, reluctance at leaving still gracing the features remarkably similar to his mum’s. “Just gotta put my books in my trunk.” So saying, Teddy gave a giant heave, and it was then that Remus understood his son’s dilemma. Huffing and puffing the tiny boy pulled and pulled until the sack, which must have been carrying a heap load of books, finally made it past the doorway.   
“I hope you've left at least two books in the library, sport. Otherwise, your dad’s going to be miserable the entire week-end.”

Sending Sirius a scathing look, Teddy informed him haughtily, “ _Mione_ says books aren’t just paper and words. _Mione_ says books are friends too, and since I can’t take _Mione_ with me I ’m gonna take some other friends to keep me company. It’s so I won’t miss her as much.” Teddy’s lowerlipbegan to tremble in an alarmingly familiarway, andthenheadmitted in a chokedvoicefull of unshed tears, “I don’t thinkit’ll work though. I'm still gonna miss her something frightful.”  
  
Sirius and Remus shared a helpless, concerned glance; knowing that, without a doubt, Teddy spoke the words that all the residents of number 12 Grimmauld Place had been secretly harboring in their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcome as are thoughts on who you would like Hermione to end up with in the end!


End file.
